When You Think Of Me
by Monica-Bing
Summary: A wedding in Boston prompts Chandler to put his doubts to rest once and for all. (**Finished!**)
1. When You Think Of Me

When You Think Of Me

AN:  Okay, I know that this plot has been written countless times – I think I've even written something somewhat similar myself.  However, every time I hear the song featured in this chapter (and I hear it a lot – it's one of my current favorites, so it's on every cd I've made the past couple of weeks), I can't help but think that it should be made into a story, and to me, it fits Chandler.  So, forgive me for an unoriginal storyline, but I couldn't help it.  =)  

I hope you like it anyway…

Also, I am putting "Not A Day Goes By" on hold indefinitely, until I get some inspiration.   So, if you're waiting on that one, it might be a little while.  I'd rather wait and write it well than end up with another chapter like the one I posted a few weeks ago.  

****

This takes place in Season Six, probably about a third of the way through.  Some of the events that happened in the "real" series will be important later on, but for now, the only important thing I'm changing is that Chandler did NOT ask Monica if he could move in after they got back from Vegas.  

He knew he should be stronger than this.  He should be a bigger man than he was, and not run away from the best thing that had ever happened to him.  He should stay and love her; that was what he wanted.  As he gazed down at her sleeping face, he couldn't imagine being the man to cause tears to fall from her beautiful eyes.  

            But he would.  Even as doggedly fought his own cursed instincts – the ones he had come to believe had been bestowed on him with his last name - he knew that he had already lost the struggle.  He hated himself for not being able to stop it, and he despised himself for letting her live in oblivion when he knew very well that the ending was now inevitable.  She had no idea that she was going to wake up alone in the morning.  That was the saddest part of the whole thing.  She had trusted him, so completely.  

And he was going to break her heart.

            He kissed the side of her head, blinking away the tears as he buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent one last time.  He couldn't stop a sob from passing through him, and though he muffled the sound in his throat, the gentle shake of his body woke her.

            "Chandler?" she questioned sleepily, turning slightly toward him with her eyes still closed.  He quickly lifted his head and placed a gentle finger on her lips.

            "Shh, baby.  Go back to sleep."

            She nodded in agreement, but a second later her eyes fluttered open, seeking his.  "What's wrong?"

            Chandler forced himself to smile, hoping she was still too sleepy to focus on his eyes in the dark.  "Nothing, sweetheart.  Go back to sleep."

            "Hmmmkay…" she murmured, pulling her body closer to his as she closed her eyes again.  He held her willingly, gently stroking her hair as she slowly dropped back into unconsciousness, her arm draped possessively over his chest.    

            He stared down at her, and his mind began to run through the same dialogue he'd had with himself every night for what seemed like months.  He didn't have to leave her, not tonight, any time but right now.  

            But he was past the point of wondering if it would be so bad if he stayed.  The decision had been made, and though he couldn't remember actually making it for the life of him, he would follow it.   He'd resigned himself to the fact that he no longer had a choice.  How did he make it to this place, no longer able to decide for himself whether to stay or go? 

            Swallowing hard, he leaned over to kiss her gently on the lips, then lay still for moment to make sure she was still sleeping.  He cautiously began to pull himself from her trusting embrace, pushing away his thoughts of what she would do when she woke up and he wasn't there.  He stood beside the bed, and allowed himself a lingering look back at her.

"I love you," he whispered into the darkness, before he turned away and opened the door.

            His bags were packed, stowed away in the back of his closet across the hall.  He wasn't taking much with him, just enough clothes to get by for a few days and a few other items that held memories he wanted to hold on to.  Everything else, he would leave for her.  She could cherish them as memories of him, pawn them on the street corner, or burn them in effigy – he didn't care.  But he hoped…he hoped she would remember.

            And if she did, he prayed that, with time, she would be able to find some good in the memories.  That she would think of them the way they were in the beginning, before his life with her became too much for him to handle.  

            But most of all, he wanted her to remember how much he loved her.  And he hoped that she would somehow manage to bury the thoughts that would inevitably accompany this knowledge: that as much as he loved her, it still hadn't been enough.  

You look so peaceful sleepin'  
You don't know that I'm leaving, but I'm gone  
Well, I did my best to beat 'em  
But in my head the demons said move on  
When you wake up you're gonna curse my name  
But as some time goes by I hope and pray  
  
 When you think of me  
Remember the way that I used to be  
Remember the times I held you tenderly  
Remember the way that I love you

He hadn't missed the irony in his decision to run to his mother; she was, after all, the one that had prompted his downfall, no matter how innocent she had been when she pushed the first domino, sending it crashing into the next, and the next and the next.   Nora Bing was the antagonist; he was the tragic hero, and Monica the innocent victim.  The hero's fatal flaw?  With him, it could be one of a million things.  He didn't have the energy to narrow the list to one.  

  His whole life was a freaking Greek tragedy…a comedy of errors that led him slowly but surely to this time and this place.   Just like Oedipus, his destiny had been mapped from the time he was an infant.  And trying to escape the fate the stars gave him only sent him straight to what he was trying to run from.  

            This.  Sitting alone in an airport, staring at a ticket that would take him to Boston, where his mother shared a high-class apartment with a man that was eight months older than Chandler.  This.  A pounding head and an aching throat, eyes filled with tears he refused to shed in public.  Determined to step onto a plane that would carry him away from his life, from everything and everyone he had ever held dear.

            This.  Leaving his heart behind in a cheerful apartment in The Village, in the possession of a beautiful raven-haired woman that had never deserved this.  Leaving his heart to ache with hers.  Both wondering why he'd had to go.  Forever wondering if it might have been different if…

            He hoped she would realize that she was better off without him.  Without him to drag her down, she could do all the things she wanted to do.  She could fall in love the way she was meant to, with some wonderful guy that could give her the world.  A man so much better than he was.  He'd always imagined her with someone like Pete Becker: smart, successful, talented, rich.  Someone so different from what he was.  Hell, now that he was gone, she could go back to Richard if she wanted to, he decided, though the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.  Richard was a player in the tragedy just like Nora.

            He heard them call his flight, and glanced around as a few other people around him stirred and began gathering their things.  Three other people.  3:00 am flights to Boston weren't so popular, but from La Guardia, you could go anywhere in the world, any time of the day.

            Closing his eyes, he let scenes flash before him, her face filling every image.  He knew that twenty years from now, he would still be able to close his eyes and see her just as clearly.  The thought comforted him and scared him to death.  He would never be able to forget her.  And for the rest of his life, he would wish it had ended differently.  Haunted by her…in spite of the fact that he was the one letting her go.

            He stood slowly, and lifted his carry-on to his shoulder, staring at the floor as a wave of desperation threatened to send him reeling to the floor.  Regaining his composure, he turned and looked back down the corridor, toward the gate that led back to the real world.  A world where she was probably still unaware that he was gone.

            A world he didn't plan to return to.  A life he was giving up.

            He turned back around slowly, then walked slowly toward the weary-looking attendant that was waiting to take his ticket.

I think about the night I met you  
I swore I'd never forget you – well, I won't  
I think about the way you'll live and breathe  
Inside my dreams forever  
Well, you'll be better when I'm gone  
You'll be better when I'm gone  
Cause I know you're gonna fall in love again  
I'm sorry this is how it has to end  
But...  
  
When you think of me  
Remember the way that I used to be  
Remember the times I held you tenderly  
Remember the way that I love you  
  
Oh, when you think of me  
  
As I pick up these bags and turn around  
I say a little prayer and hope somehow…  
When you think of me  
Remember the way that I used to be  
Remember the times I held you tenderly  
Remember the way that I love you

            She woke up before the alarm, and instinctively moved toward the side of the bed he regularly occupied, seeking the warmth and comfort of his body.  When she realized she had moved too far and still hadn't come into contact with the solidarity of his form, she opened her eyes and lifted her head, frowning at the empty space beside her.  She collapsed back against her pillow, wondering what had prompted him to get up without her.

            Sighing in mock frustration, she dragged herself out of the bed, and padded out into the living room, not surprised when she didn't find him.  He was probably across the hall.  She'd go over and scold him for leaving without a goodbye kiss, then make him breakfast before he left for wherever he was going.

            The door to Apartment 19 was unlocked, and she entered quietly, deciding Joey was probably still asleep.  To her surprise, Joey was sitting at the counter eating Frosted Flakes and reading the comics.  Her entrance surprised him; he nearly fell off his stool.  When he recovered, he gave her a sheepish grin.

            "'Morning, Mon."

            "Hey, Joey.  Is Chandler still here?"

            He gave her a confused glance, then looked around the apartment as if he expected Chandler to jump out of one of the corners.

            "Noo…I thought he stayed at your place last night."

            "He did, but when I woke up, he was gone.  I figured he was over here getting ready."

            "Oh…well, I haven't seen him.  Maybe he already left for work."

            "Maybe," Monica agreed reluctantly, though she didn't believe it.  It was barely six o'clock.  It was unlikely her lackadaisical boyfriend would already be at the office, early meeting or not.   "I'll call his office and see."  Maybe he'd been in the bathroom and she just hadn't noticed the closed door.  

            "What are you doing up so early?" she asked him, not wanting to appear rude or uncaring by leaving as soon as she found out Chandler wasn't there.

            "Just got home," Joey responded with a smirk.  Monica rolled her eyes at him and headed for the door.  

            "If Chandler happens to come back in, ask him to come see me, okay?"

            "'Kay," Joey agreed, his attention back on the comics.  He laughed loudly to himself as Monica opened the door, making her smile.  Sometimes she wished she could be like Joey, getting pleasure out of such simple things.

            "Chandler?" she called as she entered her own apartment again.  "Honey, are you here?"

            No answer.  No one on the bathroom, the balcony was empty.  He _definitely_ wouldn't be in Rachel's room, and there was still no sign of him in the bedroom.  Disappointed, Monica sat down on the bed and reached for the phone, hoping she would catch him at the office before he got started on whatever was so important.  As she dialed the numbers, she saw a piece of notepaper, folded in half with her name printed on the front in his familiar writing.  Smiling, she placed the phone back in the cradle and picked up the note, expecting a few quick words explaining his absence, maybe a sentimental thought about how he hadn't had the heart to wake her.  

            Instead, she found only five lines, written like poetry.  No greeting, no "Love, Chandler" at the bottom.  Just five lines.

**_When you think of me  
Remember the way that I used to be  
Remember the times I held you tenderly  
Remember the way that I love you_  
_ When you think of me_**

            She stared at the words in confusion, wondering what they were supposed to mean.  They sank in without warning, and she lifted a shaky hand to cover her mouth as she realized what he was telling her.  He was saying goodbye.

To Be Continued…

Before you tell me Chandler wouldn't leave like that, I site this in my defense:  1 - The song called for it.  =)  2 – He **_did_** almost walk out on his own wedding day, and that was **after** he "grew up".  3 – More explanations for my rationale in upcoming chapters.  (It might not be _good_ rationale, but I have thought it through a little bit…)

"When You Think Of Me" is written by Troy Verges & Brett James, and is sung by Mark Wills.


	2. Help Me Understand

"When You Think Of Me"

Chapter Two – Help Me Understand

AN:  Wow, aren't you proud of me?  Only three days to write the next chapter – and it's pretty long, too!  =)  

Catnamedzane, "When You Think Of Me" _is_ a country song, as is the song for this chapter and most of those I have chosen to highlight in upcoming chapters.  It just so happens that the lyrics to those songs are generally depressing, and seem to fit.  ;-)

**_Once, in a lifetime,_**

**_You'll open up your heart._**

**_Maybe once, in your lifetime,_**

**_You'll swear to never be apart._**

**_You think your love's on solid ground,_**

**_Then out of the blue, it all comes tumblin' down…_**

****

            Monica stumbled across the hallway - the note he had left clutched in one hand - and fumbled with the door to his apartment.  Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.  She wouldn't cry until she was sure it wasn't some kind of joke, a mistaken attempt at humor.  Joey would know.  He'd tell her that Chandler was just trying to freak her out. 

The doorknob wasn't turning properly, but before she could gather her wits enough to figure out why, the door swung open and Joey was gazing at her with concern.  She pushed past him into the apartment, then turned around to glare at Joey.  

            "Did you know about this?" she asked him accusingly, thrusting the paper toward him.  

            "Know about what?" Joey asked, his eyes on her as he took the note.  "What's wrong with you?  What is this?"

            "Where is he, Joey?" she asked him as he unfolded the paper, her voice finally breaking.  "Where is he hiding?"

            Joey glanced up at her, still looking perplexed, then let his eyes fall to the page in his hands.  He read the words slowly, then looked back up at Monica with a shrug.

            "Where'd you get this?"

            "It was on my bedside table.  Tell me you knew about it.  Tell me he's trying to be funny."

            Joey raised his eyebrows, alerting Monica to the fact that he didn't understand the seriousness of the situation – and the fact that he wasn't in on it.  She collapsed into one of the recliners, the tears finally flowing down her face.  

            "Tell me he didn't really leave, Joey.  Please tell me he's not gone."

            Joey's eyes widened as he realized what she was reading in those lines, and he began to shake his head. 

            "He's not gone," Joey told her, glancing back down at the note in his hand.  "Why would he go anywhere?"

            "He's Chandler, damn it," Monica snapped back, losing all control of her emotions.  "Who knows why he does any of the things he does?"

            "Well, you and me for starters," Joey replied indignantly, offended by her comment.  "We know him better than anyone else.  Don't you think if he was going to leave, one of us would have seen it coming?"

            "I don't know…"  Monica slumped against the back of the chair, not convinced by Joey's arguments.  "I just…I can't shake the feeling…"

            "Have you tried his office, Mon?  He's probably there.  Just call him."

Trust Joey to be logical at a time like this.  Taking a deep breath, Monica nodded and accepted the phone Joey had handed her.  Even if Chandler wasn't in yet, he'd told her his secretary came in every day at 6:30 – a fact Chandler always made fun of – so she could at least ask Helen what his schedule was for the day, and leave him a message to call her immediately.

            The phone rang three times, then Helen's now-familiar voice came through the line, greeting her professionally.

            "Hi, Helen, it's Monica," Monica informed her, struggling to maintain control of her voice.  "Listen, is Chandler there yet?  I really need to talk to him."

            There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the phone, and Monica could feel her heartbeat getting louder with each second.  By the time Helen spoke, Monica knew what was coming.  The words came as no surprise.  

            "I'm sorry, dear," Helen finally said, sounding bewildered.  "I'm just surprised that Chandler didn't tell you.  He's…not here.  Friday was his last day.  He gave his notice more than a month ago."

            Joey watched as Monica's face blanched, his own heart sinking.  The phone clattered to the floor, unheeded, as she turned her head to look at him, and he read the truth in her eyes.

Who's gonna hold me tonight,  
When I'm feeling lonely?  
Who's gonna show me the light?  
'Cos I need to know.  
With all the things we've got,  
How can love just stop?  
Tell me, somebody help me understand.

Eight months later… 

            "Hey, Mon," Joey greeted her with strained cheerfulness as he walked into Central Perk.  He watched her carefully as she lifted her head from the magazine she was reading and gave him a smile, trying to ascertain what kind of mood she was in.  She was unpredictable these days; until she responded, it was impossible to tell whether she would act like her "normal" self, fall weeping into his arms, or bite his head off for no apparent reason.  In fact, her torrential mood swings had finally driven Rachel to move in with Phoebe, after she confided in the others that she couldn't stand hearing Monica crying all the time and not being able to do anything to help her.

            "Hey, Joe," she responded softly, brushing her hair behind one ear.  

            "Whatcha doin'?" he asked casually, taking a seat beside her and glancing at the magazine in her hand.

            Monica sighed and leaned her head against the back of the couch.  She looked over at Joey and shrugged slightly.  

            "The same thing I'm always doing.  Trying not to think."

            "Mon…"

            "I know," Monica interrupted with another deep sigh, giving him the cue that he was pushing too far.  He'd learned the signals.  Too much, and she would break down completely.

            "So," he began brightly after a moment of silence, "you busy tonight?" 

            Monica shook her head, avoiding his gaze by pretending to look back at the magazine.

            "Okay…" Joey responded, discouraged.  "Well, do you want to go get some dinner or something?"

            "No thanks, Joey.  I don't think I'll be very good company."

            "You're always good company, Monica," Joey told her warmly, and was rewarded when Monica finally looked up at him.

            "You're lying," she informed him flatly, but managed a slight smile.  "But I guess it's a credit to your acting skills that you sounded sincere."

            "I _am_ sincere," Joey insisted, with a pleading note to his voice.  "Come on, Monica.  You can't just sit here moping for the rest of your life.  I'll get everyone else to go…or it can just be me and you if you want."

            "I really don't think – "

            "Please, Monica.  I hate to see you like this."

            Monica looked him fully in the eyes, then back down at her lap.  Joey refused to give up on her, and deep down – underneath the layers of heartbreak and bitterness – she appreciated his concern.  

            "Okay, Joey," she relented, reaching out to squeeze his hand.  "I'll go."

            "Good," Joey stated, pleased.  "I'll go tell everybody else.  7:00 okay?"

            "Fine," Monica agreed, finally smiling sincerely.  

            Joey stood up to go, but turned back to Monica with a conspiratory smile.  

            "We'll make Ross pay," he confided with a wink, flashing her one last grin as he headed for the door.

            _Geller, party of five._  The words reverberated in her head all evening long, keeping her detached from the dinner party conversation in spite of all attempts to get her attention.  She shouldn't have come.  It was impossible to look around the table at the other four people that shared her life and not remember that their group should have included one more.

            When the meal finally ended, the stress of not mentioning Chandler-or-anything-else-that-might-upset-Monica had drained them all.  Without much discussion, they decided to call it a night, and headed off in the direction of home: Phoebe and Rachel taking a cab in one direction and dropping Ross off on the way, and Joey and Monica walking back to their apartment building together.

            They were both silent until they reached the hallway between their apartments.  Joey waited for Monica to unlock her door, then started to bid her goodnight and go into his own apartment.  Monica stopped him with a hand on his arm, and silently gestured to her open door.

            "You can…come in if you want."

            It had been a while since Monica had freely offered her apartment.  They all came and went as they always had, but he'd noticed the visits becoming less frequent as the months went by.  There was no way he was going to turn down an invitation, not if Monica was reaching out.  So, with a shy grin and a nod, he followed her inside and shut the door behind them.

            She handed Joey a beer, then sat down next to him on the couch with her scotch, crossing her legs underneath her.

            "Can I ask you something, Joey?  You don't have to tell me if you don't want to…"

            Joey nodded, his eyes questioning.  Monica took a deep breath, then turned her gaze away from his face.

            "Do you know why he left?  Did he tell you…did he ever say anything to you?"

            Joey shook his head, feeling a lump form in his throat.  

            "No…no, he never said anything.  As far as I knew, everything was fine."

            "Me too," Monica said quietly, closing her eyes briefly.  "I thought he really loved me.  I just…I never expected this from him."

            "He did love you, Monica.  He was so happy…"

            "It would have been two years this Thursday," Monica informed him softly, her voice breaking.  "Two years since London.  The night that changed everything."

            Joey was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say.  Monica glanced at him and smirked to herself.  

            "You want to hear something funny, Joey?  I wasn't even looking for Chandler that night.  I was looking for you."

            "Wh-what?" Joey questioned, stunned.  That was the last thing he had expected to hear from her.

            "I was depressed…and just wanted sex.  So I went to your hotel room to see if you would…you know.  But you weren't there, Chandler was."

            "Why…why me?"

            Monica shrugged, picking at the cushions on the couch.  "Well…with your reputation and all, I figured it would be good.  And I didn't think I'd have to worry about a one-night stand with you."

            Monica paused, and Joey remained silent, not knowing what he should say.  Monica finally looked up at him and smiled sadly.  

            "After that night, I was so happy that you _weren't_ there…no offense."

            "None taken," Joey was quick to assure her, still floored by the revelation that _he_ might have been the one with Monica that fateful night.

            "I thought that night was the beginning…of something so great.  But now…" Monica paused again, shaking her head slowly.  "Now I wish you had been there.  I wish it had been you instead of him."

            "You don't mean – " 

            "Yes, I do!" Monica stated emphatically, slamming her empty glass onto the coffee table.  "I do.  I wish Chandler and I had never happened.  I wish it had been you."

            While Joey stared at her in shock, she calmly poured herself another drink from the bottle of scotch on the table in front of him, then held it in front of her while she gazed across the room at nothing.  Finally, she turned to him, tears lining her eyes and making them red.

            "And you know what the worst part is?  He's the one that left me, and **_I_** still feel guilty when I say that out loud."

            From the moment consciousness began to descend upon her, Monica knew it was not going to be a good morning.  And her churning stomach and pounding head assured her that alcohol had everything to do with the way she was feeling.

            She moaned loudly and pulled the pillow over her head, shutting out the sunlight.  Once enclosed in darkness again, she tried to remember the events of the previous evening, and what had driven her to drink so much.  

            Chandler.  

            _As usual_, she thought to herself, with more than a touch of bitterness.  He was still controlling her life, and he wasn't even in it anymore.

            Their anniversary was coming up, she remembered, and she'd been thinking a lot about London.  In fact, she was telling Joey last ni-

_            Joey!_

Monica closed her eyes, feeling her heart sink like a chunk of iron as scenes from the rest of the evening begin to filter through her mind.  Oh, God.  Surely she hadn't.  She couldn't have…

            Monica squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut, then forced herself to uncover her head and look at the other side of her bed.  It was empty, but as her eyes surveyed the rest of the room with trepidation, she saw the evidence of last night.  Her clothes were strewn around the room, perched at awkward angles on various pieces of furniture.  Joey's shoes were tossed near the door, and a white undershirt was barely hanging on to the corner of her bedside table – items he had undoubtedly either forgotten in his hasty departure or found himself in too much of a hurry to worry about.

            "Shit," she whispered to herself, collapsing face down into her pillow.  "What have I done?"

            Monica was sitting on the couch, chewing her fingernails and dreading the inevitable confrontation with Joey when she heard a knock on the door.  As it did every time the phone rang or someone knocked on the door, her heart jumped into her throat, and for a brief second, she wondered if it would be Chandler.  She pushed the thought away with a shake of her head, and reluctantly trudged across the apartment to answer the door, sure she knew who would be on the other side.

            As expected, Joey stood in front of her, a sheepish grin on his face and a bouquet of yellow roses in his hand.

            "Hi," he greeted her solemnly, holding out the roses.  "I brought you these."

            Monica smiled hesitantly and reached out to take them, holding them awkwardly as she tried to read Joey's face.  Unable to decipher anything, she turned away from the door, gesturing to the living room as she went in search of a vase.  "Come on in."

            Joey took a couple of steps into the room and closed the door, then turned to watch her as she stood on tiptoe to pull a glass vase from the cabinet.  She silently filled it with water, purposely not looking in his direction, then set the flowers down in the middle of the table.  When she was done, she glanced up at him quickly, then off to one side.

            "Soo…I guess we should talk," she offered, her discomfort obvious.

            "Yeah.  I think so," Joey agreed, his voice shaking audibly.  "Do you, um, want to sit down?"  
            Monica nodded, choosing the armchair so she wouldn't have to sit directly next to him.  Joey followed her, sitting down on the end of the couch closest to her, and leaning forward to look at her.

            "Look, Mon, about last night…"

            "We were drunk," Monica interrupted, anxious to get the truth out into the open.  "Why don't we just agree to forget it ever happened?"

            "I don't want to," Joey told her softly, shocking her.  "I want to do the right thing.  I'm not just going to walk out of here and pretend it didn't happen."

            Monica sighed, reaching over to take Joey's hand.  "Listen, Joey, I don't want you to feel like you have to – "

            "Mon, I know I don't have to.  But…well, what if we dated?  Would that be so bad?  I promise I'll be faithful.  I can be a good boyfriend…if I try."

            Monica smiled at him tenderly, then leaned over to kiss him on the forehead.  "I know you could be, Joey.  I don't doubt that.  But not to me."

            "Why not?" he asked her, his tone verging on a pout.  

            "You know why not," Monica told him softly.  "You have to get past the idea that you have to make up for what Chandler did.  You don't have to come along and make everything better.  It's not your responsibility.  You don't have to make his wrongs right."

            "I'm not – "

            "Joey," Monica interrupted, her voice insistent.  "You don't love me.  And – and even if you did, I could never make you happy.  We both know that.  Not when I'm still…"

            She paused, dropping her head as she released Joey's hand.  He looked up at her, suddenly feeling foolish for ever thinking he could pretend to fill Chandler's place in her life.  He moved over to sit on the arm of her chair, and silently wrapped one arm around her shoulders.  

            "How can I still be in love with him, Joey?" she asked him tearfully, burying her face against the side of his body.  "How can I still love him?  I don't understand…"

            "I know, Mon.  I know," Joey whispered, sliding into the chair so he could put both arms around her.  If he'd had any idea where Chandler was at the moment, he would have gladly ripped his former best friend's arms off for what he was doing to this woman - the one person in the world Joey had been sure Chandler would do anything in his power to protect.

            Joey sighed and kissed the top of Monica's head.  He didn't understand either.     

Somebody help me understand 

**_Why I'm not a part of your plan,_**

**_And you don't need me anymore._**

**_Help me understand_**

**_Why I still wanna be where you are,_**

**_Even though I know in my heart_**

**_You don't love me anymore…_**

****

**_Who's gonna hold me tonight,_**

**_When I'm feeling lonely?_**

**_Who's gonna show me the light?_**

**_'Cos I need to know._**

**_With the all the things we've got,_**

**_How can love just stop?_**

**_Tell me, somebody help me understand._**

****

****

**"Help Me Understand" is written by Chris Farren and Steve Mac, and is sung by Trace Adkins.**

To Be Continued…


	3. Here Without You

When You Think Of Me

**Chapter Three**

He studied the "20" on the outside of her door, wondering when he had last stood on this side of the door long enough to even register the apartment number.  The green paint was peeling in the upper right corner, and the doorknob was scratched up – mostly likely from rings on the girls' hands, he decided, or the variety of people that entered this apartment turning the knob with keys still in their hand.  He'd done it, too.  More times than he would ever be able to count.

            He closed his eyes, imagining her on the other side of the door, oblivious to his presence in the hallway.  He could hear tiny sounds, from what sounded like the kitchen.  She was probably cooking, maybe a dinner for all of them, or cookies for Ben's next visit.  

            A deep breath, a trembling hand lifted to knock – twice, softly.  A pause, then footsteps, the doorknob turning…

            Her appearance behind the door left him speechless, his heart thudding even more wildly than it had ten seconds before.  She held a potholder in one hand, but it dropped to the floor as her eyes widened, her hands beginning to tremble in shock.  

            "Chandler," she whispered, taking two steps backward, her eyes never leaving his face.  She looked like she'd seen a ghost.  He guessed she probably felt like she had.

            "Hi," he whispered back plaintively, when he felt that he had regained his ability to speak.  He almost laughed at his stupidity.  He certainly owed her more than just 'Hi'.

"What…I mean, how…" she stuttered, and he couldn't blame her for being unable to find words.  "You…are you really here?"

            He nodded, and slowly took a step toward her.  She didn't back away.  Instead, she began to sob and threw herself toward him, barely giving him enough warning to prepare himself to catch her.  She sobbed against his chest, gripping him tightly.  He slowly lifted his arms to encircle her, surprised and slightly frightened by her response to his presence.  He had expected her to be icy, hateful, wary.  Pretty much anything but this.  

            "You're here," she finally whispered in a shaky voice, burying her face in his chest.  "You're back."

            "I'm back," he assured her, holding her even more tightly. "I'm here, Mon."

            "Why'd you leave?" she asked, her voice still trembling.  "Why did you leave me?"

            "I had to – " he began, but she wasn't listening.  She pulled away, shaking violently now, her hands squeezing his arms so tightly it was painful.  And she was repeating the query over and over again, louder and louder – "Why did you leave me, why did you leave me, why did you leave me" – until it finally merged into the accusation, the decibels rising with each statement and her eyes flashing with fire.  

            "You left me.  You left me.  You left me.  You left me you left me you left me you left me you…"

            Consciousness jolted Chandler from the dream, and he bolted upright in the bed, shaking visibly, but not from his sweat-soaked t-shirt or damp hair.  His body remained frozen while it adjusted to wakefulness, but his head was swimming.  He kept hearing the same phrase running over and over through his head, the accusing tone of her voice forever imprinted on his mind.

            The dreams were getting worse.

            Still shivering, Chandler pulled his wet t-shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner of the room, then burrowed back under the covers, trying to erase the nightmare from his mind.  Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy.  The dream was the result of the situation he had brought on himself.  

            It was his own damn fault.  He'd brought it on himself.  

**A hundred days have made me older  
Since the last time that I saw your pretty face  
A thousand lies have made me colder  
And I don't think I can look at this the same**

**All the miles that separate  
Disappear now when I'm dreamin' of your face…**

****

_            It had all started with his mother.  _

_Not long after all of their friends found out about their secret relationship, Nora was in New York on a layover for a few hours, and she had begged him to meet her for dinner.  He had agreed, reluctantly, and over dinner, his mother's perpetual declaration that he "needed to fall in love" had finally defeated him, and he had confided that he'd already fallen in love.  With Monica._

_            Nora had been delighted.  In the barrage that had followed his announcement, she had proclaimed Monica every wondrous adjective under the sun – all of which Chandler agreed with, of course – and then had moved on to praising her son for his good taste.  Chandler had endured it all good-naturedly, though he felt that his mother was going a bit overboard, as usual.  She acted like she'd really expected him to spend his entire life alone…or maybe to follow in his father's footsteps._

_            Somewhere near the end of her tirade – just as they were leaving to go back to the airport – she'd asked him when he planned to propose.  And then, with an ecstatic expression on her face, she had started crooning about grandchildren.  It had shocked him.  Not the thought of having children (though, truthfully, that was rather horrifying), but that his mother was happy with the prospect of being a grandmother.  He'd always assumed that she would be the kind of woman that would balk at being called "Grandma" and would invent some other title for his children to call her.  For some reason, in his head her derivative of "Grandma" was always "Gi-Gi".  _

_            But it wasn't until she used the phrase "little Bings" that he had started to freak out.  He'd been a "little Bing" himself once, and it was an experience he lived every day to forget.  Living in the shadow of gossip about his father's sexuality and his mother's…sexuality.  Forever labeled because of what his parents did.  "Little Bings" to her might be adorable little children with Chandler's eyes and Monica's smile, but all Chandler had been able to see at that moment was those same precious children suffering ridicule because he, their **father**, had screwed up.  Geez, he didn't even have to be gay.  From all reports, Ben's classmates took his two mothers completely in stride.  It could be anything.  One wrong move, and he could scar his own children_ _for life.  The thought chilled him, because he knew he more than had the ability to screw up.  He was pretty good at it actually – he was a Bing, after all, wasn't he?  _

_            The panic had been momentary, and after his mother was back on her plane to Phoenix, Chandler forced himself to push it aside.  He **was** thinking of his future with Monica, and he would not let some silly comment from his mother ruin it.  But it remained there, like a deadly computer virus, quietly spreading through his system, slowly breaking him down.  Making him susceptible to attacks on other fronts.  _

_Like Richard Burke._  

_            Chandler still cursed, just thinking his name.  Everything was going along just fine until_ **_Dr._**_ Burke reentered the picture – and on their anniversary, no less.    He **knew** he shouldn't be jealous of an innocent lunch, but he was.  And that had scared him.  For some reason, he'd thought his relationship with Monica was immune to this sort of thing, but he'd gotten a quick reality check when she admitted that not only had she had lunch with Richard…she had also avoided telling him about it.  _

_            It was what happened every time.  The threat of another man, his jealous rantings - all leading up to a miserable confrontation, the inescapable break-up, and broken hearts.  It had happened with Janice when Joey caught her kissing her husband, it had happened with Kathy and Nick the costar, it had even happened with Aurora, who was **supposed** to be sleeping with other men.  _

_That was when he realized how easily he could ruin everything.  One wrong word, one bad reaction to something completely innocent on Monica's part could send everything careening down the same path as his other relationships…only this time, it would be worse, much worse.  Because this time, it was Monica._

_            And it scared him, to be feeling the same way about Monica.  It scared him enough to make him propose on a whim at the craps table, in an attempt to keep the broken hearts at bay, to give their relationship the ultimate security.  To keep her from leaving him.  To keep himself from ruining something so good._

            _But the plan had backfired when Ross and Rachel got a little too drunk, and he and Monica had arrived back in New York with no wedding bands…and a lot of questions about their relationship.  But he had been so determined to make her happy.  And he had started to believe he was succeeding.  Until the day he realized that he couldn't.  _

_He should have known it was a bad idea when Phoebe asked them to help her watch the triplets.  He should have realized that a day of babysitting would be all it took to break his illusions.  First he swallowed the plastic gun from a toy superhero, and Monica had to carry him off to the hospital like a three-year-old.  A year earlier, the situation might not have embarrassed him so much…but now he had to wonder what Monica was thinking.  He was twenty-nine years old, and the condescending doctor - who kept shooting smiles in Monica's direction, by the way – was telling him teasingly that "toys were made to be played with, Chandler, not eaten".  Monica had glared at the doctor, then squeezed Chandler's hand to reassure him.  But he couldn't help thinking that she probably shared the doctor's tongue-in-cheek point of view.  She was probably embarrassed to claim him._

_Then, to make things worse, when they returned to their apartment, it was in shambles.  Chandler had tried to keep her from ridiculing Phoebe for the mess, but she had turned on him, blindsiding him by saying that the apartment would always look like this when they had kids, and when would that be?  _

_Of course the words had invoked in him the panic she had intended.  But after his initial_ _attack, he'd been more hurt by the fact that she **knew** it would make him panic.  His fear of_ _commitment – and, of course, of babies – had been the only thing that had ever stood between them.  And now, she had accepted it so completely that she made a joke out of it._

_Four months earlier, his issues had prompted a fight so big he had proposed in an attempt to make things right.  _

_Had she just given up on him?  Was she tired of waiting for him to become the man she had once believed he could be?_

_            His doubts – his mother's comments about children and his jealousy about Richard – had returned in a flash, and he had decided at exactly that moment that he wasn't good enough for her – and he never would be.  He couldn't give her the perfect life.  He couldn't even watch one baby for one hour without swallowing a toy.  How could he ever be the husband she dreamed of?  The father her children deserved?  Monica shouldn't have to accept his shortcomings, and learn to joke about them.  She shouldn't have to "make do" with him.  She could have better.  She deserved better._

_            He was afraid.  Afraid he would never measure up.  Afraid that he would hurt her, and that he would do it when they were in too deep to ever recover._

_            She'd once told him – during that same fight that ended with the first proposal – that if he was too afraid to be in a relationship, then he shouldn't be in one.  Back then, he'd been sure that they would make it.  That he would be able to make it up to her, somehow.  _

_But this time, he decided he should listen.  He would let her go – because he was afraid if he didn't, he would be the reason she would look back in twenty years and wonder what had happened to her life._

_And he wasn't going to give her a chance to convince him to stay._

**I'm here without you, baby**

**But you're still on my lonely mind**

**I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time  
I'm here without you baby  
But you're still with me in my dreams  
And tonight, there's only you and me.**

Chandler swung his legs over the side of the bed, determined not to stay in the bed all day, wallowing in his self-pity and devastation.  If nothing else, he would at least start looking for a job and an apartment.  It was certainly time; he'd been in Boston for almost four months now.  He couldn't live off his mother forever, and he was sure he couldn't bear sharing an apartment with her much longer.

He stumbled into the hallway, and made his way to the bathroom, marveling at how much heartbreak felt like a hangover.  He took a quick shower, and decided after a glance in the mirror that today would be one of his randomly-selected days to shave.  Feeling slightly better, and more confident about his ability to get through a day thinking of Monica only every _other _minute, he headed downstairs to grab a bagel and maybe look through the paper.  

"Hey Chandler," came the greeting from the living room, and Chandler turned to see his mother's latest boyfriend sitting on the couch sipping coffee as he read the paper.  Though he had been skeptical of him at first, "Pilot Mark" had turned out to be the best thing about Chandler's trip to Boston.  Mark was only a few months older than he was, and he reminded Chandler of Joey in some strange way.  Now they treated each other as friends, and Chandler genuinely enjoyed his company – as long as Chandler didn't allow himself to think about the fact that Mark was having sex with his mother…

"Hey Mark," Chandler replied warily, abandoning his plans for the newspaper and pouring himself a cup of coffee.  "What are you doing here this time of day?"

"I've got an off-day.  Usually I fly charters to Nantucket on my time off – good money – but today I thought I'd sleep in, relax a little, maybe take the Cessna out this afternoon if it's nice."

"You_ fly_ on your day off from _flying_?" Chandler asked, incredulous.  "Doesn't that kinda defeat the purpose of not working?"

Mark grinned, drained his cup, and set it down on the coffee table.  "Yeah.  I just can't get enough of it, I guess.  Have you ever flown?"

"Of course," Chandler told him with a shrug.  "Lots of times.  I've been to Vegas, London – "

"No," Mark interrupted, and Chandler was happy to let him.  Just the mention of those trips set up "Monica alarms" in his brain, and he was relieved that Mark had retaken control of the conversation.  "No, I mean, have you ever _flown_.  The plane, yourself."

"Yeah, right," Chandler replied with a giddy laugh, still recovering from the memories that had just flooded his mind.  "Me?  Fly a **plane**?"

"It's not that hard," Mark assured him, then sat back and studied Chandler for a minute.  "Why don't you come with me this afternoon?  See what you think?  If nothing else, it'll relax you.  And maybe you'll want to sign up for classes.  I could even teach you if you want."

Chandler started to shake his head adamantly, and make a sarcastic comment about his ability to operate complicated machinery.  But then he decided that there was nothing to lose.  He didn't have to fly the thing…he could just enjoy a hopefully relaxing afternoon flying over the suburbs outside of the city.

"Okay," he found himself agreeing, and he knew he was smiling slightly.  "As long as you promise not to make me hold the wheel or something while you go pee."

"It's a deal," Mark chuckled, and Chandler leaned back in his chair and took a drink from his cup.  The day suddenly looked more promising, and he was sure Mark's company was preferable to just his own.  

He might even be able to forget about Monica for a few hours.  

**Everything I know, anywhere I go  
It gets hard but it won't take away my love**  
**And when the last one falls, when it's all said and done.  
It gets hard but it won't take away my love**

**I'm here without you baby  
But you're still on my lonely mind  
I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time**

**I'm here without you baby  
But you're still with me in my dreams  
And tonight girl, there's only you and me**

**~Arnold, Roberts & Harrell, sung by 3 Doors Down**

**To Be Continued…**


	4. I'm Movin' On

**_When You Think of Me_**

**_Chapter Four – I'm Movin' On_**

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**_A few months later…_**

            Mark knocked briefly before walking into Chandler's apartment, not surprised to find his friend lounging on the couch with a far-off expression in his eyes.  He found him this way often, but Chandler never wanted to talk about it.  However, a month ago, Mark had found the courage to ask Nora if she knew why Chandler had come to Boston, and what he was so preoccupied with.  Nora had shrugged it off at first, telling him that she wasn't sure why Chandler had left New York so suddenly - and so adamantly refused to go back.  But gradually, Nora began to share her suspicions that perhaps it was a broken heart that brought Chandler to them.  

            That was the first time Mark heard about Monica Geller.  

            It hadn't surprised him.  He had surmised that it had to be a girl that sent Chandler on his wild mood swings.  And Mark had determined that today, he would try to get Chandler to talk.

            "Hey man," he called softly, in an effort to get Chandler's attention and make him realize he was being watched.  "You ready to go?"  
            Chandler glanced up, then jumped to his feet as he realized Mark was standing there waiting for him.  

            "Yeah, I'm ready," he answered, with an obvious effort to sound upbeat.  He reached for the black leather flight jacket that was slung over the arm of the chair, then grinned slightly as he acknowledged Mark's identical jacket.  Chandler had bought the jackets, and presented Mark his when he returned to the ground after his first solo flight.  The two wore them pretty much every time they went flying together.  Today was a "just for fun" flight, with no passengers besides the two of them, but they both still dressed the part.  

            "Take your dark glasses," Mark advised as Chandler shrugged his arms into the sleeves.  "It's bright out there today."

            Chandler nodded and reached for his keys, locking the door to his apartment behind them as they left. He'd lived there – just a few blocks Mark's apartment, which Nora still shared – for about three months, but he still felt like he was locking a hotel room behind him.  

            This wasn't home, no matter how hard he tried to pretend.  

            Chandler sighed as the now-familiar thrill of takeoff overcame him, and he smiled up at the clouds above them.  

            He loved to fly.

            This was the one good thing that had come from leaving New York.  When he was soaring along above the fancy subdivisions and pool-dotted apartment communities outside the city, his mind cleared, and he could think.  He felt free.  And he had taken a job with the small charter company Mark flew for in his off-time a couple of months ago – and was now making a pretty good living doing something he adored.  He'd even considered taking the classes to become certified on the big-time stuff – 747's and the like – and fly for a major air carrier like Mark did.  He'd contented himself on that front with the promise of 'maybe someday'.  

            From his first lesson, he had found it an escape, something new to concentrate on, something other than Monica.  But lately, it seemed that his feelings for her and the calmness he felt as he drifted through the sky were inherently linked, and she had been on his mind more than ever.  Maybe it was because time had distanced him from his initial hopelessness, or maybe it was because he had grown up a little in the past few months…but he was beginning to wonder if leaving had been such a good idea after all.

            Not that it mattered.  He _had_ left.  He had made the decision, and he had followed through with the action.  No matter how much he regretted it now, he couldn't change it.  The best he could do was make his peace with it and learn to move on.  Somehow.  

            "Are you thinking about her?" Mark asked suddenly, breaking the calm silence of the cockpit.  Chandler glanced at him, then back at the sky, shrugging slightly.

            "How do you know there's a her?"

            Mark gave a short laugh and leaned back in his seat, away from his copilot controls.  Chandler was in perfect control of the aircraft, so Mark would just relax and enjoy the ride.  "It's obvious, Chandler.  It was obvious from the very first day.  Nora said her name is Monica."

            _Monica._  Chandler shivered, unprepared to hear the name on the lips of anyone else.  That had been one of the pros to Boston – Nora was the only person here that knew Monica, and she never mentioned her.  That gave Chandler a sense of security, knowing he wouldn't have to listen to people talk about her, or hear her name in conversation.  And now Mark had ruined the illusion.  He knew her name.

            "Yeah," Chandler confirmed in a hollow voice, all signs of his happiness at take-off gone.  "Her name is Monica."

            "She must be something," Mark continued, not willing to let the topic drop in spite of Chandler's lack of enthusiasm.  "To have this kind of effect on you after all this time."

            Chandler sighed and glanced at Mark, silently pleading with him to drop it.  But Mark gazed back with a sympathetic but determined expression, and Chandler knew he wasn't going to let it go easily.

            "She is.  If you knew her, you'd understand."

            "Were you together long?" Mark asked, struggling to keep his tone casual, knowing that was the only way Chandler would keep talking.

            "About a year and a half," Chandler replied, resigned to the conversation, but not finding it as hard as he'd expected.  "But we were close for a long time before that.  Her brother was my college roommate – we'd known each other for years.  And she lived across the hallway, so… We were always together."

            "You loved her, huh?"  The question came out as a statement, accompanied with a sympathetic smirk.  Chandler swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a brief moment, then nodded slowly.  

            "Yeah.  I love her."  

            Mark gave Chandler a sharp glance, not missing the present tense of the admission.  He debated his next question before he asked it, not sure how Chandler would react.  He might not offer any more information.  But Mark took the chance, hoping that Chandler would realize that it would be good for him to talk about it.

            "So…what happened?" 

            "I happened," Chandler answered softly, after a moment of hesitation.  "I panicked and I left.  I ruined everything, and I know I broke her heart in the process."

            "You?  You left her?" Mark repeated, confused.  "But I…"  He trailed off, unable to complete the thought.  He'd been sure Monica was the one to call it off, given the way Chandler had been acting the entire time he was in Boston.  But now he was hearing another story, one he couldn't quite get his head around.  "Why?  If you love her so much, then why did you leave?"  
            "Because she deserves better than me," Chandler told him quietly.  "And I didn't want her to settle for a life with me, and then live to regret it.  So I ended it for her, so she would have no choice but to move on."

            The questions abounded, but Mark couldn't put any of them into words.  He reached absentmindedly for the controls in front of him.  Chandler relinquished control immediately, and leaned back in his seat, staring out the window in the opposite direction from Mark.  They flew in silence for a few minutes, until Mark finally got his thoughts in order and turned back to Chandler, his face still revealing his bafflement.

            "Did she ever do anything to make you think that?  That you weren't good enough?"

            Chandler sighed and shook his head slowly, not turning his attention from the window.  

            "No.  No, she always made me feel…like I was the only man in the world."

            "So she loved you?"

            "Yeah," Chandler whispered, feeling tears sting his eyes.  "I think she really did."

            "Chandler, you're an ass," Mark announced matter-of-factly, all sympathy gone from his voice.  "You just _left_ her, for no reason but your own pathetic insecurities?"

            "Yeah," Chandler sighed.  "That's about it.  And if that surprises you, you obviously don't know me very well."

            "I have a good mind to turn this plane around right now and fly you straight to New York City," Mark said in a low, almost angry, voice, ignoring Chandler's last comment.  "If we had enough fuel, I probably would."

            "No," Chandler stated emphatically, turning in his chair to look at Mark.  "I can't go back.  Not now."

            "Why not?  What if she's as miserable as you are?  Don't you think you owe it to her – to yourself – to at least _talk _to her?"

            Chandler shrugged slightly, not willing to admit out loud that it was the same question he asked himself every day.  

            "I don't know…" he finally answered.  "…how I can ever make her understand.  And if I can't tell her why, there's no reason for me to go back to New York.  It will only hurt her more."

            "So what are you gonna do?" Mark persisted, wishing he could reach over and shake some sense into his friend.  "Stay here in Boston all curled up with your misery?  That sounds like a _great_ plan, Chandler.  Let me know how that goes for you."

"I don't know what else to do, Mark!  Don't you think I know I messed up?  Don't you think I'd like to do it differently?  It doesn't matter!  This is where I am.  I can't change it."

"You can go home, Chandler.  I'm not saying that she'll take you back, or that you'll live happily ever after, but you're never going to have any peace until you talk to her.  And my guess is, neither will she.  If you love her as much as you say you do – and I think you do – then you have to go back to New York.  You just have to."

Chandler set his eyes on the horizon in front of him, refusing to look in Mark's direction.  Mark got the message; the conversation was over.  He glanced at Chandler one last time, wondering what he was thinking.  Then he turned his attention to the ground as the small airport they flew out of came into view on the horizon, and he began to prepare for a landing.

The dream left him panting for breath long after he woke, and he clung desperately to his pillow as his mind drifted slowly back to reality.  He knew from experience that after a nightmare like this one, he would have to down several Tylenol PM's to get back to sleep.  Only drugs could provide the oblivion he needed.

            A shiver ran through him when he recovered enough to think about the dream he had just awakened from.  It started out the same as the others.  He was standing in the hallway, dredging up the courage to knock on her door.  But this time, the door was opened by Ross, who silently allowed him to enter.  But when he did, Chandler saw that it wasn't Monica and Rachel's familiar apartment that greeted him, but some sort of chapel, filled with mourners.  And at the front of the church was a casket.  

            Chandler could still feel the horror he had felt in the dream, as he glanced at Ross, then back at the front row, where Joey, Rachel, and Phoebe were sitting, looking back at him.  

            No Monica. 

            Chandler gasped for breath as the vision from the dream flashed in his mind, and then pushed the covers off of him, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.  He'd never had a dream like that before; they had always been limited to horrible scenarios of his reunion with Monica.  He didn't know what this new dream was supposed to mean, but it scared him.  It scared him so completely that it took all of his willpower to keep from calling her apartment to make sure she was okay.  That was the last thing he should do - call her at 3:00 am after nearly a year of no contact, just because he'd dreamed she was dead.  That would really help matters.

Knowing he wouldn't sleep any more, with or without the help of medication, Chandler left the bedroom and pulled a chair up next to the window.  He blamed Mark for the dream, knowing that it had to be the effect of his own guilty conscience, revived by the conversation he'd had with Mark in the plane earlier that day.  

            But he couldn't blame Mark, when what he said was the absolute truth.  Damn it, he was just like Ross in that respect.  You hated to admit he was right…but he usually was.  

            Chandler sighed, then decided it was far past time to weigh his options.  He couldn't go on like this.  If he was ever going to _live_ again, he had to make a choice.  

            He had left her, and no matter what happened next, there was no changing that fact.  The past was written in stone, and no amount of regret could change the story.  But the future was still his to shape.  He knew that she was unlikely to forgive him.  He knew that it would probably be too hard for them to maintain a friendship now, much less any kind of intimate relationship.  He knew that she probably wasn't even the same woman she had been before all of this happened.  God knows he wasn't the same man who had jumped ship for reasons that seemed entirely insane now.  But he also knew that if he really loved her, he had to go back to New York and _try._  Not necessarily to get her back – he couldn't blame her if she never wanted to see him again – but to tell her what he had felt then, and how he felt now.

He loved her.  There was no doubt about that.  So there was only one choice he could make.

            He'd give a two-week notice in the morning, and he'd make his plans.  For better or worse, he was going back to New York.

I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons  
Finally content with a past I regret  
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness  
For once I'm at peace with myself  
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long  
I'm movin' on.

Monica stepped into the coffee house and instinctively glanced toward the orange couch.  Today, Ross and Phoebe occupied their usual gathering place, and appeared to be in the midst of a heated discussion about – surprise, surprise – something they didn't agree on.  Monica smiled to herself as she went to the counter, deciding that if it hadn't been for the rest of the gang, Ross and Phoebe would have been destined to be mortal enemies.  She could totally picture "Street Phoebe" making it a point to visit the museum where Ross used to work every day, just so she could get him riled up with arguments of the supernatural and non-scientific.  In Monica's mind – and maybe it was just the result of deep-seeded jealousy from her childhood with Ross – Phoebe always won the imaginary showdowns, sending Dr. Geller off in tears.

"Hey guys," she interrupted, sitting down in the armchair and smiling at them expectantly.  "What's up?"

"Ross is sucking all of the joy out of life," Phoebe replied with an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes in Ross's direction.  

"Again?" Monica deadpanned, grinning when Ross shot her a look.  "What is it this time?"

"Rock candy," came the irritated reply, and Monica had to hold in her laughter.  Only these two…

"I was just – "

"Save it, Ross," Phoebe snapped before Ross could defend himself.  "Nobody wants to hear it."  After looking toward his sister for sympathy she wasn't ready to bestow, Ross slumped against the back of the couch in a pout while Phoebe turned her attention to Monica.  

"So what have you been up to?"

Monica dreaded the inevitable question, and all of its implications.  There was no right answer, and no matter what she said, she would receive the sympathetic looks, pats on the knee, and "sudden" ideas about somewhere she should go or someone she should meet.

They didn't seem to understand that she didn't want any of that.  

"Just…you know, work and stuff," she finally replied vaguely, glancing away from the disapproving flicker in Phoebe's eyes.  She saw Ross's gaze turn in her direction, and was relieved when Rachel appeared from nowhere, just in time to prevent Ross and Phoebe from ganging up on her. 

 "Guess who I ran into today!"  Rachel flounced onto the couch with a grin on her face, turning her eyes pointedly in Monica's direction.  For a split second, Monica's heart jumped into her throat…until she realized that if Rachel had seen Chandler, she wouldn't be announcing it so cheerily in the coffee shop.  There would be long moments of preparation; the serious and compassionate looks to let her know that her friends were there for her.  And she was sure Rachel would let the others in on the secret before she told Monica, so they would all be crowded so closely around her for support that she would find it hard to breathe.

Willing her heart to stop thumping and hoping her face hadn't gone pale, Monica stilled her shaking hands in her lap and tried to look casual.  Luckily, Phoebe had started excitedly running down her list of off-the-wall names – from Celine Dion to Ben Affleck – taking attention away from Monica for the moment.  

"Screech from "Saved By The Bell?" Phoebe yelled out suddenly, oblivious to the curious looks coming in her direction from the other patrons of the shop.  Rachel stopped mid-head-shake and raised her eyebrows at Phoebe.  

"No…"  Rachel shook her head and refocused on her announcement, looking back in Monica's direction and making it obvious this time to all of them that it was someone that would be especially meaningful to Monica.  "Pete Becker."

"Oh, really?" Monica replied, as she knew was expected.  "How's he doing?"

"Great," Rachel responded with raised eyebrows.  "He asked about you."

"Hmmm…that's nice."  Monica didn't elaborate, hoping Rachel would drop the subject.  However, she had a sinking suspicion that she knew what was coming.  

"Yeah.  So, he suggested we all get together for dinner, since he hasn't seen us in a while, and I told him I thought it was a great idea."

"Rachel…" Monica began, closing her eyes for control.  "I can't believe – "

"Monica, he asked all of us.  What harm can it do?  Wouldn't you like to see him again?  I know you didn't part on good terms, but c'mon.  He was a good guy.  And the rest of us will be there.  It's not like a date."

_But you intend to turn it into one,_ Monica thought to herself.  She glanced at Ross and Phoebe, who were watching the conversation with interest, then turned back to Rachel. 

"I just don't think I should.  Okay?"

"Think you should what?" Joey interjected, sauntering over to them.  Monica smiled slightly as he briefly rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then took a seat at the table across from her.  His eyes met hers, silently asking what was going on.  

"Think I should go on a date with Pete Becker," Monica told him, intentionally forgetting to mention that he – and the rest of them – were invited too.

"Not a date," Rachel chided her.  "Dinner.  And he invited all of us."

"Dinner?"  Joey's eyes lit up at the thought of food, and food provided/paid for by a billionaire, no less.  "Nothing wrong with having dinner with the guy, Mon.  I mean, as long as the rest of us are there, too."

Monica rolled her eyes and smiled at her friend.  Joey had become her fiercest protector, often jumping in on her behalf when the others were urging her to move on a little too insistently.  It had been awkward for a while after their one night together, but they had agreed that it would be their secret, that they would pretend it hadn't happened.  And they had also agreed to stay away from the alcohol when they were alone together, just to keep it from happening again.  Monica figured it was lucky that neither of them remembered too much about the night.  It made it easier to ignore.   It was harder to ignore the guilt she felt, in spite of the circumstances, for sleeping with Chandler's best friend.  

"You guys can go if you want," she told them.  "But I – I'm just not ready for that, no matter how innocent it is."

"Look, Mon, I respect that.  I do.  But just think about it, okay?  It might not be as bad as you think it'll be."

Monica glanced around at her friends.  Phoebe and Ross had remained strangely quiet, but one look at their faces told her that they agreed with Rachel.  Joey was most likely to be on her side, but even he was shrugging, as if he couldn't see what it would hurt.  Monica sighed, then nodded slowly. 

"Fine.  I'll think about it, but no promises.  Okay?"

"Okay," Rachel replied with the confidence of a person who knew they had won the game.  She leaned back against the couch and looked around at the others.  

"So, what's up guys?"

Joey, Ross, and Phoebe erupted into a cacophony of conversation and explanations, and Monica let them talk, the sounds of their voices washing over her as her mind drifted away.

She knew they loved her and wanted what was best for her, but they didn't understand.  Sometimes – not often anymore, but sometimes - she felt so removed from them, as if she really didn't know them at all.  It was a strange feeling, to look at faces of people she had known and loved for years, and to feel like they were strangers looking back at her.  She wondered if they felt the same way sometimes, and decided they probably did.  They expected her to be the same old Monica they had always known, but she wasn't.  Not anymore.  

She knew they didn't want to admit that.  That they didn't want her to change; they didn't want the dynamic of the group to change.  But it had.  She had.  Everything in her world had changed the moment she realized that Chandler was gone.  And she hated him for it, for making her feel this way.  

For changing her so much that she felt that she no longer belonged here.  For making her feel like she wasn't herself without him.  

But he was gone, and it didn't appear that he was coming back.  She still had a life to live, and she wasn't going to let him control it any longer.   She closed her eyes and let his face flash in front of her.  One breath, then two.  She swallowed hard, then willed his face away and opened her eyes, feeling a new determination fill her body.  

"Fine," she heard herself say, as surprised by her own voice as they were by her interruption.  "I'll go to dinner with Pete.  Go ahead and call him, Rach.  I'll go."

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces  
Each one is different but they're always the same  
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it  
They'll never allow me to change.  
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong…  
I'm movin' on.

            To her surprise, dinner with Pete went well, and she actually had a nice time.  Not a _romantically_ nice time, but a catching-up-with-old-friends nice time.  Pete regaled them with stories about his Ultimate Fighting quest, which he had finally given up after being hospitalized for two weeks for a head injury.  The only reference to his past relationship with Monica came when he was telling them about one fight that left him "looking worse than the night Monica broke up with me".  

            Pete helped Monica with her coat when they were getting ready to leave, and Monica watched helplessly as the other discreetly walked ahead of them to the door, leaving her alone with Pete.  He gave her a small smile, then leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

            "It was good to see you, Monica."

            "You too," Monica replied honestly.  "This was…nice," she finally finished, unable to find a better word.

            "Yes, it was," Pete answered with a nod.  "Joey seemed to enjoy it, too," he speculated with a thoughtful expression, making Monica laugh.

            "Joey's easy to please.  You pay for dinner, he loves you for life."

            "Yeah…"  Pete looked down at the ground, then back up at Monica.  "Listen, Mon, I – I was wondering…if maybe I could call you sometime?"

            She wasn't surprised, but she still found it difficult to form a response.  She looked up at Pete, and realized that the prospect didn't repel her.  It didn't exactly excite her either, but then, it hadn't the first time around with Pete, either, and she had still fallen for him.  

            She wasn't ready to fall in love again.  That much she knew for sure.  But maybe she was ready for a phone call.

            "Okay," she finally agreed.  

            Pete's face broke into a relieved smile.  And after a moment, Monica smiled back.

**I'm movin' on  
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me  
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone  
There comes a time in everyone's life  
When all you can see are the years passing by**

**And I have made up my mind that those days are gone**

Two weeks later… 

            Chandler placed the last box in the back of the Explorer he had bought a few months ago, then slammed the back door shut.  He glanced up at the windows of the apartment he had lived in for less than six months, not surprised that he felt no regret to be leaving it.  

            Apprehension about what lay ahead of him, yes.  Regrets to be leaving, no.  

            His boss had taken his resignation well, and had even referred Chandler to a sister charter company in New York, who – being in New York – had more business than they could handle.  He would still be able to fly when he was back in New York.  

            Mark had been more than supportive, and Nora…Nora had hugged him and told him she was glad he was following his heart.  She'd almost felt like a normal mother at that moment.  Almost.

            Chandler started the engine, and pulled away from the curb without a backward glance.  He'd stop for gas at the station two blocks over, then it would be him and the road for the next four hours or so.  He had no idea what he would find at the end of the road, but he had some time to think about it.  At least he knew he was heading in the right direction. 

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't  
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town  
I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't  
I had to lose everything to find out  
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road  
I'm movin' on.

            His cell phone rang as he was pulling out of the gas station, and he glanced at the caller id, surprised to recognize the number of his boss's office at the airport.

            "Hello?" 

            "Chandler.  It's Charlie.  Listen, are you still in town?"

            "Headin' out now, Charlie.  What's wrong?"

            "Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but do you think you could do me a favor?  I just got a request for a charter to Pittsburgh, and everybody else is out.  This guy owns part of the company that owns us, Chandler, and I can't really turn him away.  I know it's a lot to ask, but do you think…maybe you could come in and take it?  It'll only set you back a couple of hours.  I'll double your pay for the trip."

            Chandler smiled to himself, and glanced at the clock on the dashboard.  11:38.  He had plenty of time to make the flight and still get to New York, and it was the least he could for a man who had done so much for him.

            "I'll be there in twenty minutes, Charlie."

            Fifteen minutes later, Chandler jogged into the hangar, slowing down to a walk as he headed through the double doors into the office area and waiting rooms.

            "Charlie, I'm here," he called into the office, before going to the desk to check himself in on the flight sheet.

            "Chandler," Charlie greeted him as he walked out of the office.  "Thanks for coming in.  I owe you one."

            "I think I owe you enough to make up for one little favor, Charlie.  So, Pittsburgh huh?"

            "Yes.  I've already submitted the flight plan.  Let me introduce you to your passengers."

            Chandler nodded and followed Charlie into one of the smaller rooms that served as waiting rooms for VIP tours or special groups.  

            "Chandler Bing, this is Pete Becker and – "

            "Monica," Chandler whispered, staring at his second passenger in disbelief.  

  
I'm movin' on.  
I'm movin' on.

****

****

To Be Continued… 

  
 "I'm Movin' On" is written by Phillip White and Vincent Williams and sung by Rascal Flatts.  (It's also one of my favorite songs of all time!)    
  
   
AN:  Okay, so I know this took forever for me to post, but I kept changing my mind about what I wanted to happen, and how I wanted to lead up to things I have planned for future chapters – so, anyway, I rewrote this about four times.  

And the "running into each other at the airport" came from catnamedzane.  I hadn't considered it before, but I thought it was a good idea so I used it!  (Thanks, by the way.)


	5. Blue Eyes Blue

_When You Think Of Me_

_Chapter Five – Blue Eyes Blue_

Okay, this picks up just a few minutes before the end of the last chapter…

_Earlier…_

            Monica flipped through one of the magazines lying on the table in the small waiting room, doing her best to ignore Pete's impatient movements next to her.  She had no sympathy for him; it was his own lack of planning that had put them there.

            When he had called exactly a week after their group dinner and asked her to join him for a football game in Pittsburgh, she agreed in spite of her lack of interest, deciding that football was much less intimidating than a candlelit dinner.  She didn't even realize it was an _important_ football game until she mentioned their plans in front of Joey, who – after he picked himself up off the floor – informed her that she had been invited to the Super Bowl.  

Pete's plan had been to fly to Boston Saturday on a private jet carrying some of his partners to an important meeting with some software developers.  Pete had claimed it made sense for them to fly along, as he would need to stop in and say hi to the clients, exchange pleasantries and all.  Then they would charter their own plane – Pete held some interest in a charter plane company that had ports in several cities, so he was sure it wouldn't be a problem – and travel on to Pittsburgh.   

            But when they arrived in Boston, it became clear Pete should have called ahead.  After hearing Pete's name (and noticing, Monica was sure, the disdainful look on Pete's face when the option of a commercial flight was mentioned) the manager of the airline promised to try to track down an extra pilot, but cautioned them that the only guy he had left to call was supposed to be leaving for New York that day.  Monica had smiled slightly at the coincidence: they were coming from New York, and their only hope for a pilot was trying to get there.  

            Charlie had stepped back in a few moments ago, looking relieved as he informed them that their pilot – one of the best he had - was on his way in.  Pete's lack of remorse for ruining the poor guy's trip to New York annoyed her, but she was determined not to ruin their weekend before it even started.  She was undeniably tense about the implications of this trip, and all she really wanted was to be safely checked in to their (separate) hotel rooms, where she could lie in her bed and try to figure out how she had ended up in Pennsylvania with Pete Becker.

              Monica looked up when the sound of a slamming door broke the calm silence around them, and she heard a muffled voice call out.  Monica felt the familiar chills travel up her spine, but she forced herself not to acknowledge the thought – that the muted, faceless voice had a familiar quality.  That the tone, the inflections were similar to _his_.  It certainly wasn't the first time she'd heard a voice that sounded like Chandler's, and deep down, she knew it wouldn't be the last.  But she was tired of feeling her heart leap every time something reminded her of him, no matter how vague the stimulus might be.  

            "Sounds like he's here," Pete commented, coming over to stand next to her, and Monica nodded, consciously deciding to cut Pete some slack.  It wasn't his fault she was in such a foul mood.

            "We'll be in Pittsburgh in time for a late lunch," Pete continued, his voice conveying the thought as a proposal, perhaps even as a peace offering.  Monica smiled slightly, and glanced over at him as she nodded.

            "Yeah.  I'll be famished by the time we land," she offered, giving him a half-smile.

            Pete's face broke into a full smile, and he reached out to squeeze her arm.

            "Have I told – "

            The question, whatever it was, was interrupted when Charlie gave a perfunctory knock and the door swung open.  Monica shifted her gaze to the door, a smile already on her face to welcome the pilot who was canceling his plans in order to shuttle them around.  Charlie stepped into the room, speaking over his shoulder to the young man behind him.  

            "…to your passengers," Charlie said, then swung around to flash a smile at Pete and Monica.  The pilot stepped into the room, dressed casually in jeans, a black collared shirt unbuttoned over a white t-shirt, and a black leather flight jacket, complete with sunglasses perched atop his dark brown hair.  Monica froze as soon as her eyes fell on the familiar form, and she forced herself not to cry out, in case this was just another one of her spells of déjà vu.  Then the pilot looked squarely at them with a cheerful smile, and the blue eyes erased any doubts.  She felt her knees giving way, and the possibility that she might just faint at his feet horrified her back to alertness.  Then Chandler's eyes locked with hers, and the expression on his face turned to one of shock, disbelief, and maybe even fear.  For a moment, she even suspected that he might be the one to pass out.  

            "Chandler Bing," Charlie began, the name a final confirmation neither of them needed.  "This is Pete Becker and – "

            "Monica," Chandler stated in a whisper, his eyes wide.  Monica stared back at him, unable to believe that after all this time, she was finally face to face with the man that had broken her heart into a million pieces.  The man that had shattered every illusion she had ever had about true love.  The man she had loved with every part of herself, more completely than she had ever loved anyone.  More completely than she thought she would ever love again.

            She jerked her eyes away from his and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to stop herself from shaking.  She could almost feel Charlie's confusion and Pete's concern, but most of all she could _feel_ Chandler's presence behind her.  Dear God, what was she supposed to _say_to him?

            "Monica…" Chandler said again, the shock in his voice giving way to apology as he reached out to gently touch the back of her shoulder.  She stifled a sob at his touch and wheeled around, pushing his hand away from her and knowing that she wasn't ready for this.  

            "Don't," she whispered, tears now threatening to spill.  "Just don't."

            "Please, Mon," he pleaded, his own eyes glistening with tears.  She was unprepared to hear the familiar nickname on his lips, and for a moment it almost broke her completely.  She closed her eyes and bowed her head, unable to look into his face and unable to find her voice.  She had spent the last year wondering what she would say to him if she ever saw him again, and now she couldn't remember one single word that she had wanted him to hear.  

            Ironically, now that he was standing right in front of her, the only thing she wanted to do was get away from him. 

            She pushed past him, angrily freeing herself from the hands trying to stop her, and ran into the hallway and down into the larger terminal where 'ordinary' passengers – meaning those that weren't multi-billionaires that owned a large part of the airline – waited for their flights.  She collapsed into a chair and buried her face in her hands, finally allowing her body to shake with sobs.  

            She couldn't believe that he had appeared from nowhere and turned her life upside down all over again.

            She wasn't surprised when she heard tentative footsteps coming toward her.  She had expected him to follow her, though she wasn't sure why.  After all, he had gone against everything she ever thought she knew about him when he walked away without even saying goodbye.

            He stopped in front of her, close enough but not too close.  She stubbornly averted her eyes from his pleading gaze, choosing to study the fabric on the chair next to her instead.  He squatted in front of her, but didn't touch her.  It made her queasy when she realized how badly she wanted him to touch her cheek, brush a strand of hair away from her face, reach for her hand…_anything.  _ But he didn't.  

            "I'm sorry, Monica."

            The simple words fell around her, but they didn't touch her at all.  "Sorry" didn't mean much to her right now.  

            "Why were you going to New York?" she finally asked him, looking up at him with eyes burning with confrontation.  He blinked, obviously surprised, and raised an eyebrow.

            "How did you…?"  
            "Your boss," she answered, venom in her voice.  "He said you were supposed to be on your way to New York.  Why?"

            "Well, I…um – shouldn't that be kind of obvious?" he asked in return, his eyes meeting hers nervously.

            "I don't know, Chandler, should it?  Maybe it's as obvious as the reason you walked out the door one night without an explanation and just, I don't know, never came back?"

            "Mon, I didn't – "  

            "Don't call me that," Monica told him in a voice that was deadly calm.  "I don't want you to call me that anymore."

            "Monica…"

            "Tell me why, Chandler.  Why New York?  Why now?"

            "I – I wanted to talk to you, Monica.  I wanted to explain, to tell you…"

            "Tell me what?" Monica interrupted, her voice heavy with contempt.  "That you love me after all?  That you just can't live without me?"

            Chandler paused, staring at her, knowing that was exactly what he wished he could say.  But he knew better than to tell her that now, and besides, it _wasn't_ what he had wanted to tell her.  He had wanted to apologize, to try to make her understand why.  He hadn't even dared to dream that he would have the chance to make it to "I love you".  

He lowered his eyes and slowly shook his head.  "Not exactly," he admitted softly, his eyes glued to the floor.  

            _Not exactly.  _

            Monica swallowed hard, willing herself not to show disappointment in his answer.  But if he wasn't going to New York to tell her he still loved her, then what?  To give her closure and then take off again?  

            "You know what, Chandler?  I don't care why.  You can go to New York and do whatever the hell you want to do."  She paused and stared at him for a long moment before she turned her head and started back up the hallway.  "Just stay away from me."
    
    **I thought that you'd be loving me.**
    
    **I thought you were the one who'd stay forever.**
    
    **But now forever's come and gone**
    
    **And I'm still here alone.**
    
    **'Cause you were only playing,**
    
    **You were only playing with my heart.**
    
    **I was never waiting,**
    
    **I was never waiting for the tears to start.**

            Chandler watched her disappear down the hallway, unable to find the strength to go after her.  He had hurt her enough.  Maybe one day he would have the chance to make it up to her, but for now, he would just let her go.  He owed her that much.

            He slumped into the chair she had just occupied, and he swore he could almost feel the life draining out of him.  He couldn't believe that he had just been face to face with her…and he had ruined everything all over again.  No wonder she didn't want to talk to him.

            "You screwed up, Bing," he said out loud to himself, rubbing his face with his hands.  "Big time."  

            Heaving another soul-wrenching sigh, he lifted himself to his feet and walked off in the opposite direction from where Monica had gone.  He didn't want to risk making her see him again right now.  He would wait until he was sure she – they, he reminded himself, Monica and _Pete_ – and then he would find Charlie.

            He had a lot to think about.  He needed to see some clouds.
    
    **I thought that I'd be all you need.**
    
    **In your eyes I thought I saw my heaven.**
    
    **And now my heaven's gone away**
    
    **And I'm out in the cold.**

            They arrived in Pittsburgh on a commercial flight after all, and Monica spent the whole time brooding, staring out the window.  

            _Not exactly._

So he _didn't _love her.  It hadn't been a mistake.  He didn't regret leaving her; he didn't want to come back.  

            He didn't love her.

            Until now, she hadn't realized that she had been holding on to that hope: that he would come back and declare his love, tell her he knew now that he couldn't live without her.

            But that wasn't what he had wanted to say to her.

            She couldn't get his face out of her mind.  He looked _good._  He'd lost weight over the last months, but he wasn't skinny like he'd been in their early twenties.  His hair was lighter, giving the impression that he spent a lot of time outside.  And his eyes…they were still the same gorgeous shade of blue, but there was something different in them.  Something older.  Something very un-Chandler-like.  Something she didn't recognize.
    
    **'Cause you had me believing,**
    
    **You had me believing in a lie.**
    
    **Guess I couldn't see it,**
    
    **I guess I couldn't see it till I saw goodbye.**

            "Mon?" Pete asked softly as he carried her bags into her room.  "Is there anything I can do?"

            She shook her head, giving him her best effort at a smile.  

            "No, I'm fine.  But…would you hate me if – "

            "You went home?" he finished for her, smiling knowingly.  "No, I don't think I could blame you for that.  I'll call the airport and arrange for our tickets."

            "Pete…" Monica began carefully.  "You don't have to go with me.  You can stay here, go to the game.  I'll be okay."

            Pete looked at her for a moment, then nodded slowly.  Disappointment shone in his eyes, and Monica knew that he knew.  She had a feeling that he wasn't surprised.

            "Okay.  I'll stay.  Just…if you need me, Mon, please…call."

            "I will," she promised him, leaning forward to kiss him softly on the lips.  "Thank you."

            Pete nodded, then tilted his head toward the door.  "I'll just go call the airline."

            Monica nodded back, giving him the best smile she could muster, then sank onto the bed when the door closed behind him.  She was absolutely drained of emotion.  She didn't think she could handle any more emotion today.

            As if on cue, her cell phone rang.  Monica rummaged through her jacket to find it, wondering who would be calling her.  She smiled slightly as she recognized the number on the caller id, and lifted the phone to her hear.

            "Hey Joey."

            "Monica," Joey replied, his voice sounding frazzled and confused.  "I think you should sit down."

            "What is it, Joey?  What's wrong?"

            "Chandler's mother just called," Joey answered, his tone telling her that he was still reeling from whatever Nora had told him.  "She said mine was the only number she remembered, since Chandler lived here and all and she apologized for - "

            "Joey," Monica interrupted firmly, stopping his rambling.  "What did Nora say?  Why did she call?"

            "She wants us to come to Boston, Mon," Joey told her, his voice breaking.  "It's – it's Chandler."
    
    **It was you who put the clouds around me.**
    
    **  It was you who made the tears fall down.**
    
    **  It was you who broke my heart in pieces.**
    
    **  It was you, it was you who made my blue eyes blue.**
    
    **  Oh, I never should have trusted you…**

**To Be Continued…**

"Blue Eyes Blue" is written by Diane Warren and sung by Eric Clapton.

Yes, I'm going somewhere with this, I promise.  Really.  And since I know what's coming next, I hope the next chapter will be up by the end of the weekend…of course, I thought the same thing about this chapter.  ;-)  


	6. I Will Be Your Friend

"When You Think Of Me"

Chapter Six

_Chandler, plane, hurt, hospital, Chandler…_

The words swam incessantly through her head, making it hard for her to concentrate on anything else.  The stewardess had to ask three times before Monica finally looked up and politely declined something to drink.  She was sure if she put anything in her stomach right now, she would be sick.  

Pete was the only reason she managed to get on the plane to begin with.  If it hadn't been for him, she'd probably still be sitting on the bed in her hotel room, completely catatonic, as she had been when Pete came back into the room a few minutes after she hung up with Joey.   After managing to extract the basics, Pete had called the airline back immediately, changed her destination to Boston, and booked himself a ticket as well, refusing to let her talk him out of it.  He wanted to make sure she was safely reunited with Joey, Ross, Phoebe, and Rachel before he left her alone.

It calmed her a little bit to know that her friends would be there when she landed in Boston.  According to the follow-up call she received from Ross as she and Pete were heading back to the airport, the flight from New York would land about twenty minutes before hers, and Ross had informed her they would be at her gate when she arrived.  She was relieved to know she wouldn't have to walk into the hospital by herself.  She had a feeling they knew she didn't want to do it alone.  

It was slightly ironic – all of them rushing to his side after all this time, as if they'd forgotten that they hadn't seen or heard from him in more than a year.  As if they couldn't admit that all five of them had spent the last year or so hating him – or at least wanting to hate him.  But in the end, she knew that they were all feeling the same thing she was.  No matter what he had done, or how badly he had hurt all of them, he was still Chandler and they had loved him for years.  It was hard to just forget that.  She, of all people, had learned that lesson the best. 

  Monica sighed and felt Pete's concerned glance turn her way again.  Joey's phone call had sent her into a tailspin, and poor Pete was probably afraid she was about to have a nervous breakdown or a stroke – or worse.  But she couldn't help it; her emotions were running rampant and she was flying from heartache to worry to confusion and back again.  Joey had been bewildered himself, unable to understand what Chandler was doing flying alone in a plane.  Monica hadn't bothered to explain that he was a pilot now; that Chandler was someone completely different than the friend they'd once known.   

It wasn't until she was almost to Boston that Monica realized that the others had no idea that she had already _seen_ Chandler, had talked to him.  And as soon as that knowledge flashed through her consciousness, a second possibility occurred to her: that maybe the accident had something to do with the fact that he _had_ run into her.  _What if he had crashed the plane on purpose?_

She closed her eyes at the thought, telling herself it wasn't possible.  Chandler would never do that, and besides, why would that conversation have affected him negatively?  _He didn't love her anymore._  So why would seeing her again matter anyway?

Still, the thought lingered, plaguing her for the rest of the flight.  So strange.  Only a few hours ago, she had walked away from him, telling him to stay away from her.  Now she was desperate to get to his side.  And as soon as someone assured her he would be okay – her second-hand version of Nora's phone call gave little information as to his actual _condition_, and besides, he _had _to be okay– she wanted to know what had happened in that plane.  

As promised, her friends were pacing outside the gate when Monica and Pete entered the terminal, and they all sprang forward to greet them, their faces as tense and worried as she knew hers was.  No one provided her with any additional news, and she assumed this was because they didn't have any.  

Pete bid them goodbye as they crawled into a cab, and Monica appreciated his sensitivity for not imposing himself on the situation.  He really was a good guy.  She wished she wasn't breaking his heart a second time.

The ride to the hospital was quiet, all of them occupied with their own thoughts.  Monica finally broke the silence, deciding that her friends needed to know about the day's earlier events, just in case.  

            "I saw him today," she admitted in a quiet voice, and the only reaction she got was that they all turned to look at her.  "When Pete and I tried to get a plane from Boston to Pittsburgh…I saw him at the airport.  He was going to be our pilot."

            "So he really _is_ a pilot?" Ross questioned incredulously, and Monica nodded.  

            "Yes, apparently he is.  And, um…you guys should probably know, his boss told us – before we knew it was Chandler – that he was supposed to be leaving for New York today.  He was coming home, for whatever reason."

            "Did you…talk to him?" Phoebe asked softly, her eyes concerned.  

            "Yeah.  For a minute.  We kind of skipped the pleasantries, you know."

            "What did he say?"

            Monica sighed and blinked away tears.  "That he was sorry." 

            "Is that all?" Rachel asked gently, peering at Monica's face.  Monica just nodded, not wanting to go into further detail for fear she would lose it.

            "Basically."

            The cab fell silent again as the other four contemplated this new development.  But there wasn't much time for them to think about it; the cab pulled up in front of the hospital just a minute later.

            They waited impatiently for Ross to count out the cab fare, then headed for the entrance.  It didn't take long for Joey to get Chandler's room number from the nurses at the Admissions desk, and a moment later they were stepping off the elevator onto the sixth floor.

            Nora spotted them immediately and jumped to her feet, looking relieved that they were there.  She was followed by a younger man that they all ignored while Nora brought them up-to-date, directing her comments to Monica.

            "He's in surgery now – they're taking out his spleen.  They're also going to put a pin in his wrist.  He broke some ribs, too, but luckily his lungs are okay.  His collarbone is fractured, but that's fixable.  It's his head they're worried about.  He hit it hard, but they can't tell yet if it's just a concussion, or…"  She let that thought trail off, then glanced at each of them before letting her eyes fall on Monica again.  "He's been unconscious the whole time.  I haven't even been able to see him."

            Monica digested the news, running the words over and over in her mind.  She looked up at Nora, realizing that the one essential question hadn't been answered.

            "Is he going to be okay?"

            Nora sighed and reached for Monica's arm.  "We don't know yet, sweetie.  The doctors can't say much until they can determine the extent of the head injury."  
            Monica released a shaky sob, almost collapsing against Joey.  He instinctively held her upright and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly.  Monica could tell from the shaking of his chest that he was fighting tears as well.  

            "What happened?" Monica finally whispered, looking up at Nora through tear-filled eyes.  "Do they know why he crashed?"

            "They're checking the plane and bringing in the CVR now," the man said from behind Nora, and all eyes immediately turned to him.  "The Cockpit Voice Recorder," he clarified.  "It records every sound in the cockpit, just in case something like this happens.  They can sometimes determine a cause from the pilot's last words before the crash.  Right now, they're not sure what happened.  All of Chandler's radio transmissions were regular.  The tower didn't know he was in trouble until he went down."

            "This is Mark Taylor," Nora offered, noticing the confused looks and raised eyebrows Mark was getting from the group.  "He's a pilot, too," she added, and the friends nodded their understanding.  That explained his extensive knowledge about the procedures.  Monica glanced at him curiously, wondering what other information he might have to offer.  What he had told them so far seemed to imply that they didn't think anything had been wrong with the plane.  If there had been, wouldn't Chandler have sent a panicked message over the radio?

"How much longer will he be in surgery?" Monica asked, aware that she was changing directions like a three-year-old playing tag with his father – very fast and without warning.   "Can we see him when he's out?"

"It shouldn't be much longer," Nora answered, looking at Monica with shared concern.  "He's already been in there for a while."

Monica nodded and slumped into a chair, rubbing her forehead with one hand.  Her head was absolutely spinning, and all she wanted was to see Chandler.  She didn't care if she was acting like the girlfriend she no longer was, or that earlier that same day, she had pushed him away in anger.  All she knew was that Chandler was hurt, that he needed her – and that it might just be all her fault.

It was almost another hour later before a doctor entered the waiting room and headed straight for Nora, who was asleep against Mark's shoulder.  

"Mrs. Bing?" 

Nora woke up immediately as the others crowded around her, waiting for the news.  The doctor glanced around at group of people – that had grown significantly since he'd taken Chandler in to surgery.  

"Chandler came through just fine," he told them, and was met with a unison sigh of relief.  "We stopped all of the bleeding and got him all stitched up.  All in all, he's done very well.  Now we just wait for him to wake up and see what kind of head injury we're talking about.  I will say, so far the various tests we've done don't indicate any extensive injuries, but we can't be sure until he wakes up and we can talk to him."

"Can we see him?"  Monica asked anxiously.  The doctor glanced at her, then back at Nora, finally answering with an apologetic shrug.  

"I'm sorry.  I can only allow family in with him now."

Monica closed her eyes, wanting to yell at the doctor that she was the closest thing to family Chandler had, but knowing that was no longer true.  Uncharacteristically, she accepted the decision without fighting it, nodding slowly without looking back up at the doctor.

"I understand," she stated softly, then turned to Nora, her voice breaking.  "Will you give him a kiss for me?"

Nora glanced at her, then back at the doctor.  "Dr. Welborne, Monica is Chandler's girlfriend.  Can't you make an exception for her?  I'm sure he would want her there."

The doctor glanced at her again, then finally nodded.  "Fine.  You can see him, but just for a few minutes.  And one at a time."

"Go ahead, honey," Nora told Monica, gesturing toward the hallway.  "I'll wait until you get back."  
            Monica gave Nora a grateful look, then an impulsive hug.  "Thank you," she whispered in her ear.  "I won't be long."

Monica followed the doctor to Chandler's room, then nodded that she was okay before he left her.  She stared at the doorknob for a long minute, unable to look into the room through the small window.  Finally, she turned the knob and entered the room, her breath catching as her eyes fell on Chandler.

He looked horrible.  His face was cut and bruised, his lips dry and swollen.  There was a bandage over one eye, and the same eye was swollen shut.  She could see the top of the white cast covering his chest, and the sight caused the flash of a memory of Pete bruised and broken after his first Ultimate Fighting Champion match.  His arms were lying on top of the blankets, his left wrist also wrapped in white.  Choking back her tears, Monica walked to his side and sat down in a chair, pulling it close to his bed.  She silently reached for the uninjured hand, and leaned over to kiss his fingers.  

She didn't say a word for the entire fifteen minutes she sat beside him.  When she stood up to leave so that Nora could come in and see her son, she leaned over and gently kissed his bruised lips for the first time in more than a year.

When she reentered the waiting room, she immediately noticed Chandler's boss – what was his name?  Charlie? – talking quietly with Mark in one corner.  A moment later, they walked back over to the rest of the group, and Mark smiled when he saw that Monica was back. 

"How did he look?"

"Horrible," Monica answered, wincing as the image of Chandler reentered her mind.  "What's going on?  Did they find out what went wrong?"  
            Mark glanced at Charlie, then turned back to Monica.  "The verdict is engine failure.  Luckily, he wasn't flying too high, or he could have been hurt much worse."

Monica heaved a huge sigh, relieved to hear that Chandler hadn't been on a suicide mission.  "Are you sure?  Chandler didn't – "  She paused, unwilling to voice the thoughts she'd been having out loud.  "He didn't do something wrong?"

"The CVR is textbook," Charlie told her.  "Right down to the last word."  
            "The last word?" Monica asked, not sure what he meant.

            "The majority of pilots involved in a crash say the same thing as they're about to hit the ground.  Chandler followed the tradition to the letter."

            "What…what do they say?" Monica asked, her voice shaking as she considered the thought that it_ could_ have really been Chandler's last word.

            "They call out for their mothers," Mark told her.  "Chandler said "Mom".

            Monica swallowed and nodded, then looked up at Mark pleadingly.  

"Can I hear it?"

A few minutes later, Charlie, Mark, Monica and Joey were seated in a small office down the hallway, preparing to listen to Chandler's last moments before the crash.  Charlie had brought the tape and a proper recorder with him in case Nora wanted to listen to the tape, but she had declined.  Joey wasn't sure he wanted to hear the tape either, but he was determined to be there to give Monica moral support.  

Charlie hit the play button, and Monica immediately felt her body tense.  There was nothing but silence for a few seconds, then she heard Chandler's clear voice filling the room.

"Kyle, I'm going to turn a little south from my flight plan.  It's pretty windy up here; that'll put the breeze at my back."  

"Kyle's the traffic controller," Mark whispered to them in explanation.

There was a moment of silence, then Chandler again.  "Roger that.  Turning south."  

Silence again.  Monica tried to visualize Chandler at the controls in the cockpit, but it was a hard picture to create.  She hadn't even known he was a pilot until this morning.

"Hey, Kyle," Chandler spoke again.  "Kyle?  Crap, don't tell me the – WHOA!  Kyle?  Kyle?!  What the hell is happening?"  They could hear what could only be described as a "bump", and Monica could almost feel the physical sensation of the plane dropping, as if Chandler had run into some bad turbulence.  "Oh no no no.  This isn't happening!  Kyle??  Kyle, if you're there, I've got problems.  I think the damn plane just quit working."  Another brief pause, and then "SHIT!" as Chandler threw something across the cockpit, presumably his mike or headphones.  "This can't be happening," Chandler said again, sounding desperate.  "Please God, not now.  AHH!" 

He screamed again, and Monica knew that he was probably starting to plummet downwards, the wings of the plane the only thing that kept him from going straight down.  She swallowed hard and gripped Joey's hand.  This was absolutely terrifying, and she had the benefit of knowing that Chandler was at least _alive_ now.    

"If anybody can hear me," Chandler screamed, presumably into the radio.  "I'm going down!  Repeat, I'm going down.  I'm forty miles east-south-east of the city, lots of fields around me."

Monica closed her eyes, waiting for the final sounds and then the silence that would mean he'd hit the ground.  She could hear Chandler's panicked breaths, and then the final scream.

She bolted upright in her chair, her eyes snapping open.  The tape had ended, and Mark and Charlie were both looking at her with concern.  She stared at the recorder, then back up at Charlie.  

"Can you rewind that?  Please?  Just the very last part."

Charlie raised his eyebrows in puzzlement, but did as she asked.  Monica stood right next to the recorder and listened, trying to make sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her.  But there was no doubt about it.  Chandler hadn't followed all the rules, after all.  

She shifted her gaze to Joey, who was staring at her, just as incredulous.

"Did you hear it?" she asked him, ignoring the confused looks Mark and Charlie were giving her.  "Did you hear it, too?"

Joey nodded, rising to his feet to put his arms around her.  

"He didn't say "Mom"," he told the other two men, who probably didn't understand the significance anyway.  "He said _Mon_."  

AN:  Okay, an explanation.  I know nothing about planes or flying or any of that, so please ignore any glaring errors – especially the fact that Charlie was able to bring the tape and recorder to the hospital.  I know that would probably be impossible, but…oh well.  

As I was reading "The Pilot's Wife" and came across the tidbit of information about most pilots calling out for "Mom", this scenario popped into my head, which is why I decided to turn Chandler into a pilot.  So, I have to give Anita Shreve a little of the credit.  And probably Dean Koontz, too, as "Sole Survivor" has some info on the cockpit recorder thingies as well.  

Okay, hope you liked the little twist.  To be continued!  


	7. Remember The Way That I Love You

AN:  Okay, funny story.  It's been more than a month since I updated this story (Sorry 'bout that – I plead illness and work!), but today when I got on the computer to write this part, intending to post it tonight, I had a review in my inbox, saying "Update!".  So I did.  ;)  Just a funny coincidence, since I received it just as I was getting ready to start writing.  I thought I would share it.  =)  

So, finally, here is the next part.   I hope you enjoy – and please review!  ;)

Silence filled the room after Joey's announcement, broken only when Monica turned her pale face into Joey's shoulder, stifling a sob.  Joey's face was almost as white as Monica's, but he loyally turned his attention to her, stroking her hair with one hand as he murmured something into her ear.  He glanced up, and Mark thought that his eyes looked haunted as Joey caught his gaze.  Mark surmised that the shell-shocked look emanated from the experience of hearing Chandler's "last moments" on the tape.  It had shaken Mark, too.  He had a feeling he would hear his friend's panicked voice in his dreams over the next few days.

Mark's gaze shifted to Charlie, who was just staring at the other three, looking utterly confused.  Smiling sympathetically, Mark promised himself that he would fill Charlie in on the details later, and explain why hearing her name on the tape had affected Monica so intensely.

His eyes fell on the tape recorder, and he took a step toward it, berating himself for not realizing immediately that Chandler's last cry had not been for Nora.  Of course Chandler had called for Monica.  Any fool – well, any fool that had listened to Chandler talk about her that day in the plane, and every day since he'd announced that he was going back to New York – would have known that.  In fact, he wondered why it hadn't occurred to him as soon as Charlie had briefed him on the contents of the tape.  It was no secret that Chandler and Nora didn't have a typical mother-son relationship.  Nora had actually been in almost a state of shock a year ago, when she asked him if it would be okay if her son stayed with them in Boston for a while.  She wasn't accustomed to Chandler asking her for _anything, _she had admitted.  In fact, she'd seen him only once in the past year, and that was for dinner during a three-hour layover.  Even then, Chandler had resisted the dinner date, and Nora was sure that it was only because her son was a "good kid" that he had consented.

And though things had improved drastically over the past months, it didn't change the fact that there was still a distance between the mother and her son that they hadn't quite managed to bridge.  So while it might be natural for most pilots to cry out for "Mom", it was highly unlikely that Nora Bing would have been in Chandler's thoughts at that moment.  Mark was annoyed with himself for not realizing it immediately.  

He glanced back at Monica – who had by now lifted her head and was wiping a hand across her face - and Joey, wishing that Monica had at least been prepared for what she had heard.  It was obvious that she'd been shocked to hear her name on Chandler's lips, and given the circumstances, he couldn't really blame her.  Chandler hadn't had the chance to deliver the "explanation" he owed her, and Monica probably had no idea that she had occupied Chandler's thoughts for nearly every waking moment – and sleeping, too – since he had walked out of her New York apartment.

Of course, it wasn't Mark's place to tell her that, but he felt like he had to say something.  He opened his mouth, desperately sorting through his thoughts for something that would be appropriate without letting Chandler's secret slip, when Monica herself broke the awkward moment, probably saving Mark from making a bumbling fool out of himself.

"I…I think I need to take a walk," she murmured softly in Joey's direction.  "I just…I'll be back in a little while, okay?"

Joey nodded, his eyes searching hers as he leaned in to kiss her forehead.  "You okay?" he asked her softly, staring intently into her face.  Monica took a deep, shaky breath, then nodded slowly.  

"Yeah.  I just need some…time.  I'll meet you back in the waiting room, okay?"

"Okay," Joey agreed, his eyes following her as she left the room.  When she was safely out of the room, Joey cleared his throat and Mark turned to him, already anticipating the request that came from Joey's lips.

"Can we talk for a minute?"  
  


Monica didn't even realize she had left the hospital until she looked up and realized she was seated on a bench outside.  Confused, she glanced around her, finally deciding with relief that she was just in a courtyard of some kind outside the hospital, and that her trance hadn't led her into the unfamiliar streets of Boston.  

As the haze cleared from her mind, her thoughts immediately went back to Chandler, and what she had heard on the cockpit recorder.  

He had said her name.  She was sure of it.

She shivered as she remembered the absolute terror in his voice, and felt vaguely guilty, as if she should have been there with him when he called out for her.  At the same time, the knowledge that he had been thinking of her in those last moments made her strangely euphoric.  It was a feeling she couldn't quite describe; a surge of exhilaration she had felt only a few times in her life - all of them with Chandler.  

It was, she realized, the way she felt that Thanksgiving, when she had stood in his doorway with a turkey on her head, and heard him tell her that he loved her for the very first time.  He hadn't thought it through first – that much was obvious when he immediately began to freak out – but that was exactly what convinced her that he meant it.  He'd said it without thinking.

_And now he's done the very same thing again_, she realized, her heart thudding faster as she consciously became aware of the thought that had been persistently pushing its way forward.  _That's what the tape means.  That's why I'm feeling like this.  Whether he meant to or not, Chandler just told me that he still loves me._

She gasped out loud as she thought the words to herself, immediately realizing that she was right.  He loved her.  

There was nothing else it could mean.  In spite of everything, he loved her.  He had to.

She closed her eyes, her heart warming for the first time in what seemed like months.  A tiny part of her subconscious told her that she shouldn't be feeling so happy; after all, Chandler had walked out on her all those months ago, without so much as telling her where he was going.  

But the rest of her was screaming that it didn't matter, not right now.  She could – she _would _- think about that later.  After all, it wasn't something she could ignore.  But for now, all that mattered was for the first time in months, her heart didn't feel like it was breaking.

In fact, it felt like someone had just given her back a big piece of it.

Mark handed Joey his coffee, then sat down across from him at the cafeteria table.  Joey nodded his thanks, stirring the cup absently before looking up at Mark.

"You and Chandler were pretty close, huh?"

Mark looked down at the table and nodded slowly, not missing the note of jealousy in Joey's voice.  

"Yeah, I guess."

Joey looked down into his cup, then took a swallow.

"Did he talk about Monica a lot?"

"No, never.  Not until a few weeks ago.  I figured there was a girl, but I thought it was the other way around.  I thought she had left him."

"Why?" Joey blurted out, surprised by the statement.  

"Because…he was miserable.  Completely.  For months, we were lucky if he actually got up and took a shower."

"Sweat pants?" Joey asked, his eyes wide.  "He was in Phase One?"  
            Mark raised his eyebrows, not sure he understood the question.  

"Yeah," he answered after a moment of hesitation.  "He swore sweats most of the time."

"Wow," Joey murmured, as if to himself.  "He really was upset."

"He was going back to New York today," Mark told him.  "To talk to her.  Not to ask her to take him back, because he knew he didn't deserve her.  But to try to explain, I guess.  Give her some closure."

"Mark," Joey began, his voice serious.  "I think it's only fair to tell you straight up that I'll do pretty much anything to protect that woman.  And after what we just heard in there, I know what I'm thinking, and I'm pretty sure I know what she's thinking.  So if Chandler doesn't feel the way that tape makes it sound like he feels, tell me now.  Please."  Joey paused and took a deep breath before continuing in a shaky voice.  "I can't bear to watch her get her hopes up, just to be shattered.  I can't let him break her heart again.  She doesn't deserve that."

Mark raised his eyes to Joey's, who was studying him intently with bloodshot eyes, and finally nodded slowly, smiling slightly.

"He loves her, Joey.  Of course he does.  He never stopped."

Monica paused outside the door to Chandler's room, trying to gather her thoughts before she walked inside.  She had stopped in the waiting room long enough for Nora to tell her that there was no change before proceeding down the hallway to his room, not waiting for a doctor to give her the okay to go inside.  She would leave if they made her, but she had to see Chandler, if only for a moment.

The room was quiet, the steady beats from the machines the only sound.  She found them comforting rather than intimidating; it meant that they were still doing their job for Chandler, whatever that might be.

She sat down next to the bed, her eyes taking in Chandler's still form.  She had never seen him lay so still…even the movement of his chest as the ventilator breathed for him was too minute to be visible.

She reached for his hand – the one that was uninjured – and gently ran her thumb over his fingers, careful not to move his arm for fear she would hurt him further.   Her eyes moved back to his face, wondering if there were dreams in the sleep he was lost in.  And if there were, was he dreaming of her?  Were they happy dreams?

Leaning her head against his plaster-covered chest, Monica whispered the words she had come to tell him, the words that she had been repeated to herself over and over as she walked up from the courtyard.  They were words she had memorized long ago, but was just now beginning to understand.  He had tried to tell her back then, but she had been too hurt to listen.  

"When you think of me," she whispered, her voice catching.  "Remember the way that we used to be.  Remember the times I held you tenderly.  Remember the way that I love you…"

She lifted her head, then stood up, leaning over to kiss his forehead tenderly.

"I love you," she repeated softly, before turning toward the door, glancing back at him once last time before she left the room.

To Be Continued…

(The words she said, in case you have forgotten since it's been so long, are the lyrics in the note Chandler left for her in Chapter One.)


	8. When You Come Back To Me Again

AN:  Hey y'all!  Sorry for the delay (again) for this chapter.  You know how it is when you know exactly how you want to end a chapter, but you're not sure how to begin it?  Well, that was definitely my problem this time.  And I apologize for the relative shortness of this one, but it just HAD to end where it did.  So here we go…

There's a ship out on the ocean,  
At the mercy of the sea.  
It's been tossed about,  
Lost and broken,  
Wand'ring aimlessly.  
And God, somehow you know that ship is me.

Monica couldn't help but smile when she reentered the waiting room after leaving Chandler.  Her friends were sprawled around the room, sleeping – or trying to – in the awkward positions reserved for hospitals and airports.  Ross was twisted around into a semi-fetal position in his chair, one knee drawn up under him and his head resting on his arm on top of the chair.  Joey was slouched down in his seat, legs and arms splayed outward, snoring lightly.  The heels of his feet were planted firmly to keep him from sliding off the chair.  Rachel and Phoebe had given up on the chairs and were sprawled on the floor in front of Joey, each using one of his feet for a pillow.  Nora was asleep on Mark's shoulder, but Mark's eyes were open.  He met her gaze with a small smile, his eyes mirroring her worry but also conveying sympathy and understanding for the position she was in.  She acknowledged this with a tight smile, before sinking down into the chair next to him.

"What time is it?" she asked softly, not wanting to disturb her friends and Nora.

"Almost four am," Mark whispered back, smiling when a look of shock passed over Monica's face.  It had been a long day, but he knew that if he hadn't felt the passing of time, she surely hadn't either.  "You should probably get some sleep."

Monica shook her head slowly and sighed.   "I don't think I can," she told him simply, shrugging slightly.  Mark nodded, not pressing her further.  He couldn't begin to imagine the thoughts that were running through her mind.

"Any change?" he asked instead, referring to her recent trip to Chandler's room.  

"No," Monica exhaled, closing her eyes.  "He's lying so still, Mark.  He…I guess it's the cast over his chest, but I swear you can't even see him breathe."  She paused and took a shaky breath as a tear ran slowly down her cheek.  "I've never seen him look so helpless.  I just – I wish I could at least believe that he somehow knows that I'm here."  

Mark shifted Nora out of his arms, leaning her against the back of her chair before he reached over to put an arm around Monica.  

"He knows, Monica.  I'm sure he does."  Mark paused and lifted his eyes above Monica's head, gazing down the hallway leading to his friend's room.  "If Chandler can feel anything right now, he'll feel you."

"Mon," Joey whispered, shaking her shoulder gently as he stood over her.  "Monica, wake up."

The soft command ripped through Monica's consciousness and she awoke with a jerk, immediately sitting up and staring at Joey with the wild eyes of someone so recently deep in sleep.

"Joey, what it is?  Is he awake?"

Joey paused, oddly touched that her thoughts jumped so immediately to Chandler.  He had a feeling she had been asking the question over and over in her dreams.

"No, not yet.   But the doctors said you could go in if you wanted and I figured you'd probably kill us if we didn't wake you up.  His mom's already in there."

Monica stood up without hesitation and ran her hand through her hair, surprised that she had managed to fall asleep after all.  

"They're letting Chandler have visitors?  That's a good sign, isn't it?"           

Joey nodded, though he hesitated to get her hopes up too much.  "I guess so.  But they still won't let the rest of us in.  Just you and Nora."

"Oh," Monica murmured, noting the disappointment on Joey's face.  For the first time, she felt guilty about the lie that was allowing her to visit Chandler's room.  She wasn't his girlfriend; she wasn't even what most people would call a friend right now.  She wondered fleetingly what Chandler would think if he knew they were stretching the truth about her status in his life.  

"Maybe…maybe I should just wait out here," she said softly, looking up at Joey.  "I mean, I'm not family either.  It just doesn't seem right…"

"Monica," Joey told her firmly, looking directly into her uncertain eyes.  "You _are _Chandler's family.  Everybody here knows that.  C'mon, Monica, Nora didn't even hesitate to ask them to let you in, because she knows as well as the rest of us that Chandler _needs_ you.  Don't feel guilty for that."

Monica bit her lip, considering that, and suddenly leaned forward impulsively to kiss Joey on the cheek.  "Thank you," she whispered into his ear.  "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Me neither," Joey whispered back in a teasing tone, making Monica smile.  "Now go on before I tell them that you're NOT his girlfriend and they make you sit out here with us, watching Rachel scope out all the doctors and listening to Phoebe guess what's wrong with all the people being wheeled up and down the halls."

            "Okay, okay, I'm going," Monica said with a laugh, turning toward the hallway leading to Chandler's room.

            "Hey, Mon?"

            "Yeah?" Monica responded, turning around to look back at him.

            "Tell him he better wake up soon or I'll pose as Dr. Drake Remoray to get into that hospital room."

            Monica smiled, swallowing hard to keep her tears at bay.  "I will, Joey."

            Nora looked up as Monica gently opened the door to Chandler's room and eased inside, shutting it behind her.  

            "How is he?" Monica asked softly as she moved to Chandler's side and carefully lifted his hand into hers.

            "The same," Nora replied with a weary sigh.  "I wish he would wake up.  The doctors aren't saying much, but I know that the longer he stays unconscious, the more serious this might be."

            Monica sighed and leaned over to kiss Chandler's fingers.  "Can he hear us talking to him?"

            "I don't know.  But Dr. Welborne said to keep trying.  You just never know."

            Monica leaned forward to brush her lips against Chandler's cheek, then spoke to him softly.

            "Baby, if you can hear me, we really need you to wake up.  Everybody's so worried about you, Chandler.  Joey said to tell you he'll pretend to be Dr. Drake to get in here and see you if he has to… Ross and Rachel and Phoebe are here, too, and your mom and Mark.  We're all here, just waiting on you, sweetie.  So come back and join us any time."

            Monica straightened back up and looked at Nora, who was watching Chandler intently.  Monica read the concern on her face, and realized this was the first time she had ever seen Nora Bing look the slightest bit vulnerable.  In fact, Monica couldn't remember ever seeing her look any less than perfectly composed.

            "He'll be okay, Nora.  He has to be."  Monica paused, turning her gaze back to Chandler.  "Did you hear me, Chandler?  You have to be.  You have too many people that love you and need you."

            Nora wiped a tear from her cheek and squeezed her son's hand.  "Monica's right, sweetheart.  Now open your eyes and let us see those beautiful baby blues."

            They were silent for a moment, both absorbed with their own thoughts about the man lying in front of them.  When Monica saw the first twitch of his eyelashes she thought she had imagined it. But a second later she felt a slight pressure on her hand – a pressure that increased as a low groan escaped Chandler's barely parted lips.  As Nora leapt up and ran for the door, Monica watched Chandler carefully, not even realizing that she was holding her breath.  A moment later, Dr. Welborne and a nurse were by Chandler's side, checking his vitals and waiting to see if he would open his eyes.  Monica retreated to the corner, feeling a pang of fear she hadn't expected.

            Only a day ago, they had stood face to face and she had yelled at him to stay away from her.  Now Chandler was waking up.  What would he think when he saw her there?  

            Chandler fought to focus his mind on the sounds around him, but he couldn't quite process what was happening.  A jolt of pain shot through him as he tried to take a deep breath, and he groaned.  The noises around him got louder and his confusion mounted.  What was going on?

            He gathered all of his strength and with a sheer act of will opened his eyes.  The light of the room almost blinded him, and he fought the urge to shut them again and retreat back into the fog that had surrounded him.  Squinting, he jerked his eyes to left and managed to make out his mother's face.  She was crying, but he didn't take the time to wonder why.  He could sort through that later.  His eyes continued around the room, brushing across the unfamiliar faces bending over him.  They seemed to be asking him questions, but he couldn't quite make out the words.  

            He could feel what little strength he had draining away and he almost allowed himself to sink back into oblivion.  But his eyes kept scanning the small room, searching for something, though he wasn't quite sure what.  

            He was just about to give up – to close his eyes and sink back into sleep – when he saw her, hugging the wall and looking hopeful and scared at the same time.  His eyes locked with hers and he felt the waves of pain disappearing.  In that one moment, he read everything he needed to know in her eyes, and he hoped that she could see the same in his.  He gave her his best attempt at a smile, knowing that he was about to lose his struggle with consciousness.

            "Mon…" he whispered, and had just enough time to see her tear-filled eyes overflow before he sank back into blackness again.  

'Cause there's a lighthouse in a harbor,  
Shining faithfully.  
Pouring its light out,  
Across the water.  
For this sinking soul to see,  
That someone out there still believes in me.  
  
On a prayer,  
In a song,  
I hear your voice,  
And it keeps me hanging on.  
Oh, raining down, against the wind.  
I'm reaching out,  
'Till we reach the circle's end.  
When you come back to me again.

"When You Come Back To Me Again"

~Garth Brooks/Jenny Yates


	9. There A Moment We All Come To

_The next day…_

__

Monica paused outside the door to Chandler's room and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.  She could feel her hands shaking when she finally reached for the doorknob.  

This was it – Chandler was awake.  _Really _awake after almost thirty hours of brief spells of consciousness, and he had been for almost half an hour.  Monica had decided it was only fitting; she had finally relented and left the hospital to shower and change clothes at their hotel, and Chandler had picked the few minutes she had been gone to revive himself.

And he had asked for her.

Monica didn't allow herself to feel disappointment or remorse that she hadn't been waiting just outside his door when he asked to see her, but she wondered if it would have been better if she had.  Maybe then she wouldn't have had the chance to overthink the upcoming confrontation and completely psych herself out.

Shaking her head slightly, Monica finally pushed open the door, not even realizing she was holding her breath until she was inside.  Immediately, every eye in the room turned toward her, but Monica focused on only one pair: the blue eyes that were more familiar than even her own.  They still made her heart skip a beat, even after all this time.  

            The connection was immediate and magnetic, and at that moment, Monica thought that she might be able to forgive him everything.   As Nora and Mark stood up and made a speedy, yet discreet, exit, they just stared at each other.  Drawing a shaky breath, she hesitated slightly before making her way over to him and pulling a chair up close to his bed.  

            "Hi," she whispered, her voice sounding almost too loud in the quiet of the room.  "How are you feeling?"  

            Chandler smiled slightly, though his expression remained uncertain and his eyes continued to search hers.  "Okay.  I probably have enough painkillers coursing through my blood right now to keep me high for a few weeks."

            "You had us worried," Monica admitted quietly, resting her hands on the side of his bed and then nervously removing them to her lap.  "Really worried, Chandler."

            "I know," Chandler told her, his voice catching.  "I'm sorry."

            An awkward silence fell over them as they both struggled for words.  There was so much to say – _too_ _much_ to say – but there didn't seem to be a good place to start.  Finally, Chandler sighed and turned to look Monica in the eye. 

            "Mon…why are you here?"

            Monica glanced up, startled.  "Well, your mother called Joey after the crash – "

            "No," Chandler interrupted, shaking his head.  "That's not what I mean.  Don't get me wrong, Monica, I'm so happy all of you came.  You can't imagine how much it means to me.  But _why_?  After everything I've put you through, why are you here now?"

            Monica swallowed hard and looked down, concentrating on the wrinkles in the sheets on the bed.  Finally, she brushed the tears away from her eyes with one hand and looked up at him.

            "Because you are," she whispered, and those words were the first thing to make sense to her in a long time.  "I'm here because you are."

There's a moment,  
That we all come to.  
In our own time and in our own space.  
Where all that we've done,  
We can undo,  
If our heart's in the right place.  
  


            Two hours and a paper cup of pills later, Chandler was sleeping again, exhausted by the string of visitors that had been steadily entering and exiting the room one by one, and the emotions that had accompanied each one.  And through it all, without any words being said, Monica could feel him asking her to stay, as surely as if he had grabbed her hand and held her there.  So even as their friends greeted the prodigal son for the first time in months, reminding her with each entrance that her relationship with Chandler was a thousand times more complicated than she was allowing herself to admit at the moment, she stayed, reveling in the tranquility she felt with him by her side.

And now everyone else had retreated to the waiting room or to the hotel for some rest and still she stayed, holding his hand while he slept, her eyes focused on his peaceful face but her thoughts a million miles away.  

For the hundredth time, she visualized the look on Chandler's face the first time he woke up; how his eyes had frantically traveled across the room until they rested on her and how he had whispered her name before slipping away again.  She contemplated the depth of emotions she had read in his eyes, in his face, in that split second.  It had almost been like seeing the old Chandler: her friend, her boyfriend, her love.

It was so easy to look at Chandler now, bruised and broken and lying helpless in a hospital bed, and think about how simple it would be to forgive and forget and try to get on with life as they had known it before.  

            But it wasn't simple.  She couldn't help thinking about how she had felt when she saw him in the airport – betrayed, lost, broken.  _She had __meant__ it when she told him to stay away from her.  _She'd been sure at that moment that any contact with Chandler would lead to hurt and misery, as she had experienced since the day he had left her.   

            So what was different now?  Was it just because Chandler was hurt, because he had almost died, that she was suddenly wondering if there was still a chance for them?  Or was it more?  _Did he really still love her?_  And if so, then why had he ever left her to begin with?

            Or maybe she was wrong about everything.  Maybe her perception had been influenced by Chandler's injuries and her own emotions…maybe he wouldn't even give her the opportunity to make the choice.  Maybe she was wrong.  Maybe he didn't love her.  Maybe he never had.  

            She didn't believe that.  God, she so desperately did not want to believe that.  

            Her thoughts had occupied her so completely that she didn't notice that Chandler was awake again, studying her conflicted expression.  She didn't see the shadow of guilt in his eyes, and wasn't aware that he was sorting through his own doubts.  When her eyes finally fell on his face, he squeezed her hand. 

            "I guess it's time for us to talk."

            "I'm…I'm not even sure where to begin, Monica.  You asked me at the airport if I was going back to New York to tell you I still loved you.  Well, the truth is, maybe I was.  I was miserable here.  All I wanted was to be with you, but I'd done a pretty damn good job of making sure that wasn't possible.  There are no excuses, Mon.  I was a childish, insecure bastard, and there's nothing I can do to make that right.  You don't know how much I hate that, but it's true."

            Chandler paused, and Monica finally found her voice.

            "Don't…not now, Chandler.  I don't care about that right now.  You can tell me all of this later, when you're not in the hospital and I won't feel guilty for yelling and screaming and throwing things."

            "Fair enough," Chandler agreed, fighting to keep from smiling as he imagined trying to defend himself from Monica's wrath in his present condition.  "So what do you care about?  What were you thinking about so hard a minute ago?"

            Monica bit her lip, looking down at her hands.  "Well…what happens now?  I just…I don't know where we stand, Chandler.  I don't know what you're feeling, or even what I'm feeling.  I'm so confused, and I don't know what to think, or believe."

            Chandler remained silent for a moment, then reached over to take her hand.  

            "Do you believe that I wish none of this had happened?  That I had stayed with you in New York and never gone away?"

            Monica hesitated, then nodded slowly.  "I think so."

            "Do you believe that if I could go back and fix it, I would?  I'd take it all back, Monica.  In a second."

            Monica sniffed, then nodded again.  "I believe that, too."

            Chandler hesitated for a moment, started to speak and then stopped again.  He was tempted to make a joke, to ask for an aspirin or something other item in an attempt to break the tension, but the moment was too delicate, his next words too important to trivialize with one of his inopportune comments.  

            "I love you," he told her, his voice quavering with emotion.  "I know that I've done pretty much everything I can to prove otherwise, Monica, but I do.  I don't think I can remember a time when I didn't.  If there's anything you can believe in, it's that."

            Monica studied his face, let her eyes bore into his.  He looked back at her, unflinching, begging her, pleading with her to understand how much he meant it.  The moment of truth…_did she?_

            "I believe you," she finally whispered, leaning forward to wrap her arms around his broken body.  "Maybe I'm crazy, but I believe it."

And again I see my yesterday's in front of me,  
Unfolding like a mystery.  
You're changing all that is and used to be.

~"When You Come Back To Me Again (Brooks/Yates)

(Song continued from last chapter.)

AN:  As always, sorry for the delay, but this was a struggle.  And as one reviewer said, "real life" has been getting in the way lately.  ;)  Anyway, thanks for your patience!  


	10. When I Cant Hurt You Anymore

AN:  Just so you know, it's a bad idea to let Chandler "think", because when Chandler "thinks", he rambles.  And of course, he hits on all kinds of interesting things that he should pursue in his ramblings, but he's ended up somewhere completely different from where he was supposed to be going, and then you end up deleting the whole two pages you typed up and starting over because you just can't get where you're going from where you are.   Yeah, so that's my excuse for why this wasn't posted a week ago.  =)  

"For the record, I don't think this is a good idea," Ross announced, confident that his proclamation would put an end to all discussion on the matter.  

"Objection noted," Monica commented dryly, wishing her protective big brother wasn't so damn protective sometimes.   "But the decision is already made."

"Mon," Ross began again, prepared to go into a painfully thorough explanation of his reasoning.  But Monica stopped him with a shake of her head and a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I know what you're thinking, Ross, and I honestly can't blame you for it.  But please try to understand.  I love him.  No matter how many reasons he's given me to hate him, I just can't.  And you can't either, or you would not have come to Boston."

"But he's – "

"Ross," Monica interrupted again, and this time there was a cold edge to her voice.  "If you had opened your eyes one morning while you were with Rachel and she was gone; if you found her just when you had given up all hope of ever seeing her again, what would you do?  Would you walk away from her, or would you stay?"

Ross hesitated, glancing over at Rachel while the group waited for his answer with interest.  "I…I don't know.  I - I guess I would…stay."

"Please try to understand," Monica pleaded, her blue eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears.  "I can't leave him, Ross.  He needs me."

            Ross swallowed away his rebuttal – that Chandler had left her when she needed him – and nodded slowly.  He didn't like it, but he understood it.  

            "Are you sure you don't want one of us to stay with you?" Rachel asked, putting her arm around Monica's waist.  "We don't mind."

            A flash of uncertainty crossed Monica's face, but she nodded anyway.  "I'm sure.  You need to get back to New York.  There's no reason for you to stick around here with us."

            _Us_.  Everyone noted Monica's inclusive reference, but no one commented.  They all had different opinions on the subject of Monica and Chandler, but no one dared to voice them, not in Monica's presence.  She seemed to be constantly teetering on the edge of a breakdown, but her delicate emotional state was no match for her determination to remain strong.  

            "You'll call if you need us?" Joey asked, the comment more of a suggestion than a question.  When Monica nodded, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head.  "I'll hop the next flight out if you need me to."

            "Thanks," Monica whispered, forcing a smile.  "But Nora and Mark are here.   We'll be fine."

            "You're sure this is what you want to do?" Ross asked, giving her one last chance to back out.

            "I'm sure," Monica answered, nodding resolutely.  "It's Chandler," she told them, shrugging helplessly.  The others considered that and finally nodded, convinced.  She was right; this was Chandler they were talking about.  In the end, that was all the validation any of the friends needed.  

Monica knocked gently on the door to Chandler's room before swinging it open, smiling when her eyes fell on Chandler.

"Hi," she greeted him, opening the door all the way so that Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, and Joey could file in after her.  

"Hey," Chandler returned, including all of them in his smile, clearly happy to see them.  "What are you all doing here?"

"Well, we uh – we came to say goodbye," Ross informed him awkwardly.  "We're leaving for New York this afternoon."

Chandler's eyes widened briefly in surprise, then he nodded slowly, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of them.  

"Oh," he commented quietly, trying unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment as he picked at a piece of fuzz on the blanket covering his legs.  "I guess you have to get back to work, huh?" he offered, glancing up at them hopefully, begging them to agree to the excuse he gave them, to assure him that they weren't leaving him now for good.

"Yeah," Rachel put in, reaching out to rub Chandler's shoulder reassuringly.  "We all took off without much notice…"  

"Well, um…"  Chandler paused, fighting for words to express the depth of his emotion.  "Thank you – for coming here.  I, I can't tell you how much…"

"Hey," Phoebe interrupted, smiling with exaggerated cheerfulness.  "Don't let your aura go all burgundy on us.  You were finally out of the puke green stage!"

Chandler's face broke into a sincere smile, and Phoebe leaned over to hug him.   Rachel was next, then Ross and finally Joey.  As Joey stood up and tried to surreptitiously wipe the tears out of his eyes, Chandler glanced at Monica, who was standing beside his bed, watching the ritual with a tiny smile on her face.  

"Mon?" he questioned, interrupting her thoughts and making her turn toward him.  He smiled slightly and tried to give his next words a teasing lilt.  "Don't I get a goodbye from you?"  

Monica smiled tenderly, then shook her head.  "No, you don't."  She paused just long enough for his eyes to cloud over before hurrying on.  "Because I'm not leaving."

"You…you're not leaving?" Chandler repeated, not comprehending the implications of that statement.  "Why not?"

"Do you want me to?" Monica asked, feigning hurt.  

"No…no, of course I don't.  But…why…?"

Monica glanced over at their friends, who were watching the scene unfold with a mixture of smiles, then back at Chandler.  "Because," she told him, sitting down beside his bed and leaning toward him in an attempt to create a little privacy.  "I feel like I should be _here_."

Chandler stared into her eyes, slightly squinting his own as he silently asked her if she was sure, and she responded with an imperceptible nod.  

"Thank you," he whispered, resisting with difficulty the overwhelming urge to kiss her.  

"You're welcome," Monica whispered back solemnly, stroking his hair back from his forehead with one hand.  

"We, uh, should be going," Joey interrupted, clearing his throat.  The others nodded in agreement as Chandler and Monica both turned their heads to look at them.  

"I'll walk you out," Monica offered, standing up from her seat beside Chandler's bed and squeezing his hand.  

"Hey, guys," Chandler said, holding up a hand to stop them from leaving.  "Thank you – again – so much.  I'll, uh, see you soon?" he finished, his voice rising in a question and his tone revealing his vulnerability.

"Soon, buddy," Ross assured him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.  Chandler's smile reflected his relief that they weren't walking out of his life forever.  He exchanged kisses with Rachel and Phoebe, then watched as Monica ushered them out of the room before turning to look expectantly at Joey, who was still standing in the same place beside Chandler's bed.

"I'll catch up in a minute," Joey told her, urging her to go on without him.  Monica glanced at Chandler and nodded, leaving the two men alone in the room.

Joey took a seat in the chair recently occupied by Monica, and looked down at the floor before leveling his eyes on Chandler.

"Chandler," Joey began, his expression revealing his discomfort with the situation and the words he was about to say.  "I'm not really sure how to say this, but I think I have to."  Joey paused again, struggling for the words to tactfully express his thoughts.  "Chandler, you - you tore Monica to pieces when you left her.  You weren't there to see what it did to her, but I was.  We all were."

"Joey – "

"Just – let me finish, okay?  We can see the way she looks at you, Chandler.  She loves you, dammit, and it doesn't matter what Rachel or Phoebe or Ross or I think of that.  We want you both to be happy.  That's the truth, Chandler, and I think that's what you want too.  But – it's not that easy, and from where I'm sitting, Monica is still the one standing to lose the most.  So I'm giving you fair warning, Chandler.  You hurt her like that again…You do anything to make her unhappy and – and Ross will be the least of your worries."  Joey stopped and stared into Chandler's eyes to make sure he understood.  "Okay?" 

Chandler looked toward the end of the bed and nodded slowly, avoiding Joey's gaze.  He couldn't argue with that.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I think that's fair."

"Okay."  Joey looked at his friend, completely at a loss as to how to make the transition from threatening to supportive.  Finally he grinned and leaned over to pull Chandler into as big of a bear hug as they could manage.

"Get better soon," Joey told him as he pulled away.  "And, hey…if you ever have an urge to visit New York," Joey hinted with a wink as he headed for the door, "I've got an extra bedroom."

  
  
            Chandler brooded over Joey's words – all of them – for the rest of the afternoon, making Monica question his distant demeanor.  He tried to put her off with vague comments about a headache, which only served to put her into nearly full-blown panic mode.  For a moment, Chandler was afraid he was going to have to physically restrain her so she wouldn't go in search of a doctor and drag him back into Chandler's room.

When Mark came in to say goodbye before heading back to the townhouse, Chandler saw his chance and convinced Monica to go with him, gently suggesting that she needed a good night's rest.  After repeatedly claiming that she was fine, not tired at all, Monica finally relented, promising that she would be back first thing the next morning.

She kissed him before she left.

Just a little peck on the lips, nothing spectacular in comparison with some of their other kisses, but amazing in its own right.  His lips burned with the memory for the next hour, making it impossible for him to stop thinking about it.  He'd forgotten just how deeply the lightest touch of her lips could affect him, but now he remembered all too well.   And quickly following every wave of warmth was the knowledge that he had left all of that behind.  He had left her asleep in her bed while he walked away from everything they had been - everything they could have been.

Chandler sighed and stared up at the ceiling as his thoughts flew randomly back and forth across his mind, the next one presenting itself before he could properly process the first.  For a moment, he considered making a list, and even went so far as to wonder if there was a pad of paper somewhere in the room before he rejected the idea.  A list implied logic, and if there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that all of this was completely free of logic.  If logical thought had ever entered into the equation, he wouldn't even be in the hospital room at all.

But he was - lying alone in a hotel bed, with a cast restricting his movements and painkillers dulling his thoughts just enough to make them bearable.  Fighting with his memories, remembering the way they used to be, when everything was so easy but seemed so hard. 

Remembering the way that he loved her.  

Just like he had begged her to remember in the few words he had written before escaping from something so good it scared him.  He wondered if she was thinking about those same words at that same moment, and then he realized that she had to be sleeping in the same room in Mark's apartment where Chandler himself had awakened so often from nightmares in those first few months.  He closed his eyes and prayed that her sleep would be peaceful, that the heartache of the past would not visit her tonight.  

He knew there would be no such luck for him.  His exchange with Joey took away all hope of that, though the words had not been a surprise.  But hearing Joey say it out loud – tell him how he had destroyed her, how much she had suffered because of him – it only made him realize that they couldn't go on pretending, no matter how much he wanted to.  Monica deserved better than that, and he was determined that this time, he would give it to her.  

He couldn't hurt her like that again.  He couldn't even take the risk that he might.  He was going to protect her this time, at any cost.

            Chandler stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, his heart slowly breaking all over again as he reached the same conclusion over and over.  He couldn't break her heart, and there was only one way to ensure that he wouldn't.  

He had to let her go.

Remember me when you're out walking  
When the snow falls high outside your door

Late at night when you're not sleeping

And moonlight falls across your floor  
When I can't hurt you anymore…

"Please Remember Me" (Crowell, Jennings)

To Be Continued…


	11. Still Holding On

Monica bounced into Chandler's room the next morning, oblivious, for the moment, to the change in Chandler's demeanor.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted him, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead before sitting down next to his bed.  Hearing the familiar endearment roll so easily off her tongue made Chandler's heart thump in response, but at the same time filled him with a sense of dread.  

This was not going to be easy.

"Hi," he responded, glancing at her face but focusing his gaze just above her eyes.  He was afraid he would break completely under her sapphire stare if he looked directly into her eyes.  "Did you sleep well?" he asked solicitously.

"Yeah.  How about you?  Do you feel better this morning?"  Chandler could hear the lingering concern in her voice, and forced himself to nod and smile.  

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mon.  Don't worry." 

"Good."  Monica smiled, and her face lit up again as she remembered what she had been so anxious to tell him when she entered the room.  "Guess what!"

Chandler studied her face, this time not avoiding her eyes.  She _did_ look rested, or at least more rested than she had looked over the past few days.  Her eyes were sparkling with the knowledge of the secret she was about to share, and she was smiling.  For the first time, Chandler realized how long it had been since he had seen her smile like that.  His chest suddenly felt tight and hollow, and he felt regret spread through his body, numbing his arms and legs and twisting his stomach into a knot.  

            That smile was so familiar, so achingly familiar.  There had been a time when he'd lived for that smile, when he had promised himself that he spend his life making her smile that smile.  How in the world had everything gone so terribly wrong?

            "Umm…" Chandler responded, unable to keep from smiling in response to the childish glee on her face.  "Ross got married again?" he guessed, his grin growing wider when Monica laughed.

            "We're still not completely sure he really divorced Rachel," Monica teased back, impulsively reaching for his hand.  "But no, really, Chandler.  I just talked to your doctor outside, and he said they're going to release you tomorrow!"

            "Wh-what?  Really?  I thought they were going to make me stay longer."

            Monica shook her head, her eyes shining.

            "He said you're doing great, and there's no reason to keep you."  Monica paused, her eyes boring into Chandler's as her expression became uncertain.  "Are you…are you going to stay here?"

            _Or are you coming back to New York?_, Chandler finished for her in his head.  Of course, he had already decided that, sometime during his sleepless night.  In spite of the attractiveness of Joey's offer of an empty room, being in such close proximity to Monica would make it so much harder for him to follow his decision.  Averting his eyes, he stared down at their intertwined hands, knowing that he could not avoid telling her the conclusion he had reached the night before.  Sighing deeply, he looked up at Monica, who was biting her lip as she waited for his answer.

            "Monica…" he began, but knew instantly that he would not need to go further.  Monica released a shaky breath and removed her hand from his, standing up and turning away from him.  

            "You want to stay here, then," she finally said quietly, her back to him as she stared out the window of his room.  

            "It's not that I don't want to come back to New York, Monica…"

            "No, it's not that," Monica said sarcastically, turning to glare at him.  "Because we _all_ know that Boston just has so much that New York doesn't."  

Chandler winced at the bitterness in her voice and reached out a hand to her in a gesture of peace.  Monica ignored it.

"I actually believed you, Chandler." Monica said, her voice softening not in tenderness, but with sadness.  "When you said I could believe that you loved me, I did.  But nothing's changed, has it?  You don't."

"I _do_ love you," Chandler claimed, tears streaming down his own face.  "That's why I want you to have better."

"Better?" Monica questioned, her voice hard and cold again.  "Better than what?"

Chandler turned his attention to the window, unable to look at her.  "Better than me," he clarified dully, rubbing a hand across his brow.  "As deluded as I was back then, that was why I left in the first place – so that you could make your life with someone who deserved you.  I wasn't lying when I told you I regretted it, Mon, no more than when I told you I love you.  It's the truth, Mon, all of it.  But no matter how much I regret leaving you, that's still what I want for you.  You could have any man in the world…" Chandler sighed, his eyes pleading with her to understand.  "You deserve better than me, Monica.  Maybe if I hadn't been so stupid in the past, I could let myself believe that you would be happy with me, but it's not fair for me to ask you to forget all of that.  I've hurt you enough.  I refuse to take the chance of doing it again."

Monica's lips were drawn into a tight line, and her shoulders were set in a stance that Chandler knew all too well.  She stared at him for another long time, then shook her head slowly.    

"You just did," she stated quietly.  Then she turned and walked out of the room without another word.  

_There's something out there left for you,_

_But it's not me._

_We've reached the point of no return_

_It's only right I set you free._

            Mark picked Chandler up at the hospital the next day, and the ride back to the townhouse was unnaturally quiet.  When Mark pulled up in the driveway, he turned off the engine and turned to Chandler.

            "Monica's still here, Chandler," he told him, his face serious.  "She's flying back to New York this afternoon."

            Chandler nodded, keeping his eyes straight ahead and giving no indication that the announcement had affected him.  Mark glanced at his friend and sighed. 

            "Chandler, I'm sure you have your reasons for staying here, but you know what?  You're just being selfish, or stupid, or…or something.  You were going back to New York before you landed in the hospital, and you were going back for her.  So what the hell changed, Chandler?  That girl loves you, for whatever reason, and you're just going to let her go – again?"

            "You don't understand," Chandler responded distantly.  "It's for the best."

            "Fine," Mark said, throwing up his hands in frustration.  "It's your choice, Chandler.  But you belong in New York, and you know it.  You belong with her."

            Mark looked expectantly at Chandler, hoping to see some sign that Chandler was even listening.  After a moment of silence, Chandler glanced over at him.  

            "Will you grab my bag for me?   My ribs are killing me."

            Exasperated, Mark jumped out of the car and slammed the door.  He pulled Chandler's overnight back from the backseat, shooting daggers at Chandler in the rearview mirror, then walked up the driveway, leaving Chandler alone in the car.

            Contrary to his indifferent behavior, Chandler had indeed listened to Mark.  And while the rest of his words kept playing and replaying in his head throughout the morning, the one phrase that lingered was Mark's first.  Monica was still there.

            It was nearing lunchtime when Chandler, out of desperation, reached for his cell phone.  He hesitated, looking down at the numbers on the face, before finally dialing a familiar number.  It had been his own once upon a time.  He nervously counted the rings - one…two…thr – The third ring was interrupted with a sleepy voice, and Chandler could almost picture Joey's bed hair on the other end of the line.  

            "Joey, it's Chandler.  Listen, I really need to talk…"

            He found her in the backyard, staring out across the green lawn with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.  He watched her for a moment, feeling yet another pang of regret for all the pain he had caused her.  He didn't understand how she could still love him after everything he had put her through.  He didn't understand at all.

            Ignoring his body's protests, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position beside her, noticing that she did not so much as twitch her head in his direction.  He hadn't expected her to.

            "I want to go back to New York," he finally said, careful not to look in her direction.  "If you think it's a good idea, then I want to go with you."

            "Are you just saying that?" Monica asked, "or do you really mean it?"

            "I mean it.  I already called Joey.  He offered to let me stay with him.  But I need to know if this is what you want me to do."

            Monica finally looked at him.  "Do you really have to ask that?"

            "Yeah, I do.  I need to be sure that you're okay…with everything."

            "You mean everything you said yesterday.  About us."

            "Yeah."

            "Do I have a choice?"

            "I…I guess not," Chandler replied, stumbling over his words.  "But you have to see my point, Monica.  Look at what I've put you through."

            "Fine," Monica said, tucking one leg underneath her.  "If I have no choice but to accept that, then I will."  _For now_, she continued to herself, far from willing to give up the fight or admit that she had lost.  She loved him, and only him, and she knew from experience that he was not easy to let go.  So she was going to hold on…even if he didn't know that she was.

            "Okay," Chandler agreed, surprised - and a little hurt - that she was not arguing.  "So we're okay then?"

            "We're okay," Monica confirmed, turning to him with a hesitant smile.  "Now I hope you're packed.  Our flight leaves in an hour and a half."

_I know I have to turn away,_

_But there's nowhere for my love to go._

_And there won't come a day_

_When I won't honor what we vowed._

_But I'll go on with my life_

_We can even say goodbye for now if,_

_If that's what we have to do_

_Here in my heart_

_Even when my arms are empty, darlin'_

_I'm still holding on to you._

_~"Still Holding On"_

_Black/Berg/Stuart_

AN:  Sorry for the short chapter.  I intended to go much further in this one, but I realized that if I went any further then _here, _I would have had to go on a LOT further…so, I ended it here.  Besides, this one gets from Point A to Point B – Point A being Boston and Point B being New York.  =)  I promise, next chapter soon.   And you guys HAVE to be proud of me for getting this one up in just (counts on fingers) three days!  


	12. Its Not Just Me

AN:  This chapter is _really_ long, so I hope that will help ease the disappointment some of you have in me for not having it up in three days.   J I was also going to split this because it _is_ so long, but I didn't want to break the song in half.  (It's a great song – "Not Just Me" by Rascal Flatts.)  So, anyway, I put a LOT of effort into this chapter (including completely rewriting the last part), so I hope you enjoy…

Chandler could see Monica watching him out of the corner of his eye, but he chose to ignore her concern, for now at least.  He was far too preoccupied with the sense of déjà vu that accompanied his climb up the familiar staircase – and the lingering weakness in his knees, a result of his panic attack on the plane.  The episode had alarmed him, until Monica reminded him that it had been only a little more than a week since the plane he had been piloting had plummeted to the ground.  His behavior justified, Chandler had kept his eyes shut tightly for the duration of the short flight, grateful when Monica tentatively reached for his hand and soothingly stroked it, murmuring soft, senseless words to him until he calmed down.  She'd always been good at that, he remembered wistfully, unable to avoid nostalgia with the memory of her whispering lips against his ear so fresh in his mind.  

Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to come back to New York after all.  It was just going to remind him of what he had once had, and how badly he wished he could have it again.  

The hallway between apartments 19 and 20 appeared before them, and Monica stopped on the top step, watching Chandler's reaction as he took another few steps forward without her.  His gaze went first to his own door, and she saw his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly in an effort to control his emotions.  Then he turned toward the doorway across the hall – her door.  She wondered what he was thinking, if he was remembering stolen kisses in the hallway and slinking from one apartment to the other under the cover of darkness.  She wondered if he was envisioning himself carrying her through that door when she returned from the eventful trip to Vegas with an injured ankle…and the sound of his voice announcing "It's a four" playing repeatedly in her heart.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly, stepping forward to place a hand on his arm.  Chandler turned toward her abruptly and looked deeply into her eyes, his own shadowed with regret.  Moving gently away from the touch of her hand, he leaned against the wall next to Joey's apartment and slid into a sitting position on the step, trying to sort through his thoughts enough to put them into words.

"I was thinking…that it feels like I just stepped back into another life.  It…it almost feels like time just stopped here, waiting on me to come back."  He glanced at Monica uneasily as she sat down beside him and quickly looked away.  

"But it didn't," he concluded wistfully, his voiced edged with remorse for a life unlived.  "Life here went on without me."

            Monica studied his dejected face, then slowly leaned over to brush a reassuring kiss on the side of his head, a gesture she had learned from him.     

_Mine didn't_, she thought silently, her troubled eyes following him as he pulled her to her feet and reluctantly reached for the doorknob to Apartment 19.  

"Good night," Monica murmured sleepily a few hours and a "Joey Special" later, as she leaned over to kiss Chandler on the cheek.  The rest of their friends had left for home an hour before, leaving Monica alone with Joey and Chandler, and she had spent the last hour desperately trying to dispel the awkward silence that had fallen between the newly reinstated roommates.  Exhausted and beginning to believe she was part of the problem, she finally decided to leave them alone and let them work it out like they "big boys" they were supposed to be.  "I'll see you tomorrow morning." 

Chandler started to rise and walk her to the door of her apartment, but Monica stopped him with the tiniest shake of her head.  Slightly disappointed, Chandler raised his eyebrows in response, and Monica gave him an unconvincing half-smile.  For the first time since the afternoon before in his hospital room, Chandler saw the vague reflection of grief in her eyes.   That made him hesitate him long enough for Monica to slip over to Joey, and as Chandler watched, Monica gave him exactly the same good night she had just given Chandler – a kiss on the cheek and a promise to see him in the morning.  

Joey smiled languidly as he mumbled a 'good night' in return and gave Monica a quick, brotherly kiss on the forehead.  Chandler suddenly felt jealousy surge through his body as he watched the scene and recognized the intimacy between the two.  He knew he shouldn't be surprised, but…well, when had Monica and Joey gotten so close?  The exchange he had just witnessed made him almost sick to his stomach. 

Joey turned to Chandler as Monica pulled the door shut behind her and smiled weakly.  

"So, um…Rachel made the bed up for you, 'cuz – " Joey stopped and grinned, his old self again for just a moment. "Well, you know better than to think I would do it for you."

Relieved by Joey's candor, Chandler laughed slightly, and the both of them relaxed visibly.  Chandler held Joey's gaze for a moment, both of them sorting through memories of another time.

"You should get some sleep," Joey finally said, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees.  "We can talk more tomorrow…if you want to."

"Yeah…thanks," Chandler agreed, suddenly longing for the days of Fireball and Baywatch, wishing he could have his easy friendship with Joey back.  His heart sank with the knowledge that it would probably never be that simple again.  He'd destroyed the childlike trust Joey once had in him…and Chandler knew from experience that once you lost that trust, it was hard to regain it.  

Wishing Joey a good night, and hoping that he had managed to convey some of his deeply-felt appreciation for Joey's hospitality, Chandler retreated into his old bedroom and shut the door behind him.  He glanced at the made-up bed, wondering if the forced feeling of familiarity in the apartment tonight had been any indication of how his friends really felt about him being back in New York.  He hated the feeling of being just outside the circle, but he had no one to blame but himself.    

He forced the thoughts from his mind as he took a single pill to help him forget his aching ribs and throbbing wrist, then slid between the sheets of the bed, his body fitting perfectly into the familiar mattress.  With a sigh, he closed his eyes, hoping that the drugs would help him fall asleep quickly.

The clock on his nightstand told him it was 2 am when he woke up in a cold sweat, the sheets Rachel had provided for him crumpled at the bottom of the bed, thrown off sometime in his sleep.  Chandler retrieved his pillow from the floor beside the bed and balled it up under his head as he lay back down, shivering.  

He'd been dreaming again.  Nightmares like the ones he'd had in Boston - the ones about Monica.

_Tell me you've had trouble sleeping…_

_That you toss and turn from side to side_

_That it's my face you've been seeing_

_In your dreams at night_

_(A few days later…)_

Monica buried her face in her damp pillow, trying to quell the next round of tears before they started.  She was beginning to see a pattern – every night she dreamed about Chandler, some good and some bad, and every morning she woke up with a lump in her chest and tears in her eyes.  Frustrated with herself and her emotions, she pulled herself out of the bed and headed for the shower.  

Geez, she was acting like she had when he'd first left; unable to sleep, not wanting to eat, crying into her pillow for hours on end.  She reminded herself that he was right across the hall, but it didn't make her feel any better.  It just made her want him more.  

Some days she thought that she missed him even more now than she had when while he was 'gone'.  She tried to pretend she was okay with his decision, but the truth was, she found herself holding her breath every time he walked into a room, hoping that today was the day he would change mind.  So far, he hadn't shown any sign that he had, or would. 

For a few days in Boston, she had thought they might actually be able to work things out.  She'd had mixed feelings about the prospect, because after all, he'd done the unforgivable when he left the way he did.  But all of that notwithstanding, when she closed her eyes and imagined being in his arms again, her heart beat just a little bit faster.  And she had realized _how much_ she wanted to feel that way again…just as he apparently decided that they _couldn't – _or wouldn't. 

She understood that he thought he was doing this for her, but she didn't think he understood that this was killing her all over again.  For a few blissful days, the hole he had left in her life had started to heal.  She had started to feel like _herself_ again.

But now she was just empty.  

Sighing in resignation, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a bathrobe around her body.  Joey would be looking for breakfast soon, and Chandler would no doubt be with him.  The prospect of seeing him walk through the door made her face brighten momentarily in anticipation.  Maybe today he would realize this was a hopeless exercise in misery, one that would never accomplish what he thought it would.

Or maybe it would just be another day of heartache for both of them.

_Tell me that you wake up crying_

_And you're not sure exactly why._

_Tell me that something is missing_

_In your life - in your life._

_Baby, tell me that you live for love_

_That forever is never enough_

_That you've waited all your life to see_

_That you want so badly to believe_

_Tell me that it's not just me._

_(A couple of weeks later…)_

"It's not a date, Joey" Chandler insisted, already tired of the argument.  "We're just going out to dinner."

"To her _very expensive_ favorite restaurant!" Joey challenged.  "And you're wearing the blue shirt!"

"The blue shirt?" Chandler asked warily as he looked down at the deep blue shirt he was wearing with his dark suit and tie, not following Joey's line of reasoning.  "What does my shirt have to do with it?"

"Monica loves that shirt," Joey pointed out triumphantly, gesturing toward Chandler.   "You always wear it when you're taking her somewhere special.  Even before you were dating."  Joey's tone implied that his last statement might as well have been "Even before the beginning of time."

"So, I – it's a good shirt," Chandler defended himself.  "And I don't know why we're arguing about it.  You can think it's a date all you want to, but it's not.  I just…wanted to take her someplace nice to thank her – for everything.  She's been amazing these past couple of weeks, and even thought I can't figure out why she still cares about me, I wanted to do something special for her.  _But it's not a date!_" Chandler repeated, emphasizing his point as he grabbed his keys and prepared to go across the hall to pick up Monica.  Just as he turned toward the door, it swung open and Monica entered the apartment, making both men stop in their tracks. 

"M-mon…" Chandler stuttered, his eyes widening in amazement.  "You – you, um, wow…"

"He means," Joey supplied, smirking at his awestruck friend as if Chandler had just proven his point.  "You look great, Monica."

"Thank you, Joey," Monica responded, glancing at him with an appreciative smile before turning her attention back to Chandler.  "I thought tonight would be a good excuse to dress up, even if it's 'not a date'."  

Chandler blushed when she raised her eyebrows pointedly, embarrassed and disconcerted that she had heard his proclamation.  He could see that she was slightly hurt by his insistence.

"You look beautiful," he told her softly, sincerely.  She smiled in return, looking willing enough to forgive him for his indiscretion.  

"I got tired of waiting," she told him, her playful grin assuring him that she was teasing.  "You're already four minutes late."

"I was on my way out the door," Chandler defended himself, holding up the keys in his hand as proof.  "But you're right, we should probably go."

"Have fun!" Joey encouraged them with a wink, holding the door open for the couple.  "On your _date_," he concluded in a whisper as Chandler walked past him, closing the door before Chandler had a chance to turn around with a rebuttal.  

As soon as the door clicked shut, Joey's smile faded.  Yes, he had been concerned that Chandler might end up breaking Monica's heart again, but he had never expected them _not_ to get back together.  Joey didn't understand what the problem was.  Anybody could see that they were pining for each other, but for some reason, neither of them were pursuing anything more than friendship.

Sometimes, especially at moments like this, he just wanted to shake both of them and demand that they put an end to whatever game they were playing.  

Didn't they realize that the only time either of them _smiled_ was when they were together?

"I love this place," Monica breathed happily as Chandler held her chair for her, and then slid into his own across the table.  

"I know," Chandler said a little too loudly, trying unsuccessfully to imitate Monica's patented rejoinder.  Monica smiled at his attempt and took a sip of her water, glancing around the restaurant to make sure no one was staring at them.  Satisfied for the moment that Chandler had not garnered any undue attention, she turned her attention back to him, noticing that he looked relaxed, and…happy.  The worry lines that had been creasing his forehead were gone for the moment, and his blue eyes were shining, made even bluer by the shirt he was wearing – her favorite.  Seeing him completely at ease made something inside her click, and suddenly she was feeling less apprehensive about their "not a date".  Instead, she decided to follow his lead, forget about all of the reasons this evening should be uncomfortable, and just enjoy being with him.  

But suddenly, any possibility of the evening being anything but 'uncomfortable' was gone.  As Monica looked up at Chandler, prepared to give him a bright smile and thank him for bringing her to her favorite place, she caught a glimpse of an all-too-familiar figure out of the corner of her eye.  

"You have _got_ to be kidding," she moaned under her breath to whoever was in charge of karma, as she looked again to be sure.  There was no mistaking it – and with her second glance, the man caught her eye, his own widening in surprised pleasure.

"Monica?" he asked, already making his way over to them, dragging the woman that was presumably his date behind him.  Monica's glanced at Chandler, who suddenly looked like he had accidentally swallowed a chicken bone.  Giving him an "I-don't-know-what-else-to-do" shrug, she slowly stood up, praying that the confrontation would be quick and painless.  _Yeah right, _she thought to herself, knowing there was no chance of that, not with these two particular men in the same room.  

"Richard…" she greeted him, plastering a smile across her face.  "Hi."

Ten minutes later, after the pleasantries had caught the attention of the maitre 'd, Richard and his date were seated at an adjoining table which - much to the dismay of both members of the Geller/Bing party - had been pulled up right next to theirs.   

Richard was making a flowery toast, the kind that impressed most people and would have impressed Monica under any other circumstances.  His date, Laura, was smiling at him like he was the most brilliant man on the planet, and even Chandler was nodding along pleasantly.  Monica was surprised that he was able to hide his displeasure so well.  Only Monica or maybe Joey would have been able to tell that he was fuming inside.  

"…good friends," Richard finished, raising his glass.  The other three obligingly lifted their own glasses, and Chandler felt Monica squeeze his hand as she took a sip from her glass.  He caught her eye and smiled, trying to reassure her that he did not hold her responsible for this.

"So, you two have been together how long now?  Two years?" Richard asked, his voice slightly strained.  Two heads snapped toward him, taken aback by the comment.  Richard shrugged, still maintaining his cool demeanor.  If an onlooker – like Richard's date – was ignorant of the history between Richard and Monica, there was absolutely nothing in Richard's mannerisms that implied the question was anything more than polite conversation.

Chandler and Monica exchanged uneasy glances, each waiting for the other to explain that they _weren't_ together.  Silence reigned as they hesitated, until Chandler's survival instincts kicked in, prompting him to put his arm around the back of Monica's chair as he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.  

"Yeah," he answered, catching a glimpse of incredulity in Monica's eyes before turning his gaze on Richard.    "About two and half years."  

He regretted the deceptive words instantly.  He could feel Monica's eyes burning into him, but he refused to look at her.  He was definitely going to pay for this impulsive little charade later.

"That's…great," Richard replied, looking slightly uncomfortable.  "I'm happy for you guys."

"You make a lovely couple," Laura chimed in, oblivious to the distress of the other three members of the group.  "You look like you're very much in love."

The comment hit Chandler like an eighteen-wheeler, and for a moment he found it difficult to breathe.  His eyes shifted to Monica's, and he could see that she was just as affected.  He swallowed hard and then nodded, never moving his eyes from Monica's face.  

"Yes," he admitted, completely honestly.  "I love her very much."

Monica stared at him, and Chandler stared back, trying to read the expression in her eyes.  Before either of them could say anything more, Richard interrupted, obviously not wanting to see the look the two were giving each other.

"Well, the chicken looks good," he commented, opening his menu and effectively ending any talk of Chandler and Monica's love life.  "Laura, did Monica tell you that she's a chef…?"

The ride home from the restaurant was silent.  Monica was fuming, Chandler was meek, and neither of them wanted to have the confrontation they were about to have in the back of a New York cab, even if their cab driver didn't appear to speak or understand English.  

Outside their building, Chandler paid the fare while Monica stalked into the building without him.  He caught up with her at her apartment, barely escaping having the door slammed in his face as he stepped inside just in time.

"How dare you!" Monica exploded before he had a chance to say anything, throwing her hands into the air.  "You had _no_ right to do that."

"I know," Chandler began shamefully, but Monica was on a roll and not in the mood to let him talk.

"We are _not_ together, Chandler, and as I recall, that was your choice.  Why would you _lie_ about it like that?"  
            "I'm sorry, Monica.  It just kind of slipped out.  I mean, it was Richard…"

"Don't even start with that, Chandler!  I _never_ knew why you were so insecure about him, but it doesn't matter now.  You have _no right_ to be jealous – of anyone."

"I know…"

"You told me that you _wanted_ me to find someone else, Chandler.  'Somebody better', I think those were your exact words.  So, what?  Is Richard not 'good enough'?  It wasn't enough that I can't have you, now you also get to choose who I can – or cannot – date?"

"Of course not – "

"And who are you to decide what is 'good enough' for me, anyway?  Don't you think I can make that decision for myself?"

"I just wanted – "

"Why is always what _you_ want, Chandler?  When does it get to be what I want?"

"I want you to have what you deserve, Monica!"  Chandler yelled, finally raising his voice.  "I want you to be with someone who can give you the life you always wanted!"  
            Monica shook her head in disbelief.  "Didn't it ever occur to you that all I ever wanted was _YOU_??"

The revelation stunned Chandler into silence, his eyes frozen on Monica's face.  She sniffed back her tears and nodded, the anger draining from her body.  "All I wanted was you," she repeated softly, hugging herself with her arms as she turned away from him.

"W-why?" Chandler finally managed to stutter, genuinely perplexed.  "After all I've put you through, how can you still say that?"

"Because it's true," Monica answered quietly, her back still turned to him.  

After another long pause, Chandler stepped toward her and gently turned her to face him. 

"You shouldn't," he told her gently, pain etched into his features.  "You shouldn't want me.  _Don't_ want me, Monica.  It doesn't matter how much I love you – and I do, Monica.  God, I do.  But no matter how hard I try, you'll only get hurt.  Haven't I proven that already?"

Monica avoided his eyes, looking at the floor instead.  When it became clear that she wasn't going to say anything, Chandler's eyes followed hers to the floor.  Scuffing one shoe against the wood, he blinked back tears, knowing that there was nothing he could say or do to make this any better.

"I should go," he finally whispered, lifting his eyes to her face.  Monica kept her head down, refusing to look at him.  Her shoulders were shaking as she tried to hold in her sobs.  He took a step backward, then another, still watching her.  

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, half hoping she would stop him.  

She didn't.  

            A few days later, Chandler stood outside Monica's apartment, trying to gather the courage he needed to knock.  What he was about to do was going to break her heart – even more – and he knew himself well enough to know that it would break his, too.  But he just didn't see any other way.  

            He finally knocked, and it only took her a few seconds to answer.  She must have been in the kitchen.

            "Hi," Chandler greeted her softly, noticing her tentative expression.  "Can I come in for a minute?"

            Monica nodded, pulling the door open wider for him.  She closed it behind him and then turned to look at him, waiting for him to speak.

            "Monica…I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, for everything.  Maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed away…or maybe we both needed this, I don't know.  I thought – I thought I could come back here and make it work somehow, but it's obvious now that it won't.  As long as I'm here, I'll be bringing you nothing but hurt.  And I refuse to do that."

            Monica looked up, startled by the decisive note in his voice.  Her eyes widened as she took in his expression, and suddenly she knew where he was going with this. 

            "Chandler, no – "

            "I'm going back to Boston," he told her, his voice wavering.  "It'll be better this way, Monica.  I'll come and visit – I promise.  It won't be like before.  I…I want to be friends…"

            Monica closed her eyes, tears seeping from underneath her eyelids.  She shook her head slowly, trying to make her mind function well enough to come up with all the reasons he should stay.  Before she could voice any of them, he spoke again.

            "I love you, Monica.  And I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I wish that I could have been the man to make you happy…but I'm not.  And I just can't go on making you unhappy any longer.  Please, please try to understand that.  I have to go."

            Monica swallowed and looked up at him, only able to manage one word.  "When?"

            "Tomorrow," Chandler answered, his face down.  "Mark's flying in on a charter…I'm going to go back with him."

            "So this is goodbye then?" Monica asked, choking on the words.  "It's just going to end here, now?"

            Chandler looked up at her and for a moment, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and never, ever let go.  But that wasn't an option, not anymore.

            "I…I guess so," Chandler finally answered as his own tears began to fall.  "This is goodbye."

            Monica woke up the next morning with swollen eyes and a determination not to let Chandler leave without a fight.  She dressed quickly and walked across the hall, walking into Chandler and Joey's apartment without bothering to knock.  She found Joey in the living room, staring at the tv but not appearing to see it.  Chandler was nowhere in sight.

            "Joey?" Monica questioned, leaning into his line of sight.  "Where's Chandler?"

            Joey snapped to attention and glanced at her, his eyes immediately growing sad and distant again.  "He already left."

            "He left?  Already?"  Monica repeated, feeling the last ounce of hope draining from her body when Joey nodded.  "When?"

            "About fifteen minutes ago.  He asked me to give you this."  Joey held out a piece of paper, not bothering to get up from the chair.  Monica took the paper and opened it slowly, wondering what else there was to say.

            "Monica," the note read.  "I think about the night I met you, I swore I'd never forget you…well, I won't.  I think about the way you'll live and breathe inside my dreams forever… But you'll be better when I'm gone, Mon, you'll be better when I'm gone.  Because I know you're gonna fall in love again…  I'm sorry this is how it has to end.**"  The note was signed simply, "Love, Chandler".  

            Monica read the words again, then suddenly reached over and tried to pull Joey up by one arm.

            "Joey, get up.  We're going to the airport."

            It took longer than Monica hoped to get to the airfield the charter flights used, and even longer to figure out where Mark and Chandler's plane would be sitting.  When they finally managed to track it down, an attendant informed them that the plane was scheduled to take off in just a few minutes.

            Desperate to stop Chandler from leaving, Monica ignored the people warning her not to go outside and headed straight for the plane that had been pointed out to her, ignoring the fact that the clouds that had been building all morning had just opened up and were drenching the world around her.  There was still a crowd of people surrounding the plane, and even from a distance, she could see that they were passengers trying to hurriedly board the plane and get out of the rain.  Then her eyes sought out a familiar form and her heart jumped into her throat.  He was still there, just beginning to walk toward the plane.  

            "Chandler!" she called, breaking into a run.  "Chandler!"

            He heard her.  She saw him stop, still facing the plane, then turn around slowly just as she reached him.  For a moment, she thought she saw a smile flicker across his face, almost as if he had been expecting her.  But with the rain falling in sheets around them, she couldn't be quite sure.  

            "Monica?" he asked, reaching out a hand to her.  "What are you doing here?  You're getting soaked."

            "Don't go to Boston, Chandler," Monica pleaded, ignoring his question.  "Please don't go.  Stay with me.  I need you."

            "Monica, we talked about this..."

            "No," she interrupted, "You talked.  Well, it's my turn now.  I love you, Chandler.  I'm miserable without you.  Please, _please_ don't leave me again."

            "Monica, I have to," he whispered. "It's for the best."  Chandler gave her one last, lingering look, then started to turn toward the plane.  Desperate, and knowing this was probably her last chance to make him understand, Monica took a deep breath.  

"Is it just me, Chandler?  Am I the only one that feels this?"

Chandler paused, and turned back to her.  As Monica waited anxiously, he hesitated, then looked up at her with shadowed eyes.  

"Feel what, Monica?" he asked her, though his voice told her that he already knew.  She struggled for a moment to put her feelings into words and finally gave up, lifting her hands into the air and then dropping them back to her sides in surrender.  

"Love."

_I could've sworn I saw you smile at me_

_Standing in the pouring rain._

_At a loss for words and running out of time_

_I said this crazy thing -_

_Crazy thing, I said_

_Tell me that you live for love_

_That forever is never enough_

_That you waited all your life to see…_

_That you want so badly to believe…_

_Tell me that it's not just me._

"Of course I do," Chandler said in an almost-whisper, looking at the ground.  "Of course I feel it."

"Then why are we doing this?" Monica asked him, her voice strangled with tears.  "I know you think that this is what's best for me, but it's not.  I love you.  We were meant to be together, Chandler.  Soulmates.  Don't you believe that?"

"I – I don't know," Chandler told her, his tone almost desperate.  "I used to, but…"  He paused and looked at her, unable to decipher tears from raindrops on her face.  "Do you still believe it?  Really?"

"Yes," Monica answered without hesitation.  "I do."

Chandler frowned and lowered his gaze.  "I wish it was that easy, Monica.

"Chandler," Monica said, stepping closer to him and taking his hands in hers.  "Think about this.  When you woke up that first time in the hospital, who did you look for?"  
            "You," Chandler whispered after a moment of silence, gently squeezing her hands.  

"When your plane hit the ground, whose face did you see?"

"Yours," Chandler admitted with a sob.

"In your dreams, baby, the happy ones…who is with you?"

"You," Chandler said, his eyes widening in realization.  "It's always you."

Smiling, Monica leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands. "Do you believe it now?"

_Hold me now and tell me_

_That you do believe_

_In a soul, a soulmate._

_(Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me)_

Chandler hesitated for just a moment, before pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that would definitely make their Top Ten list.  Pulling away just far enough to lean his forehead against hers, he tightened his arms around her, promising himself that he would never let her go again.  

"I believe it," he whispered, grinning as a smile spread across her face and she tightened her grip on him, kissing him again.  Suddenly, all of the pain and uncertainty of the past year disappeared, leaving him standing in the rain with the woman he loved.  The woman he couldn't help but love.

He was suddenly aware of the eyes watching them, and turned from Monica to see the eight passengers, Mark, and Joey watching them, all with matching grins.  As Chandler turned, they all erupted in cheers and applause, making Chandler and Monica blush, but hold on to each other even more tightly.

"Hey Mark," Chandler called, grinning at his friend.  "I think you'll have to take this flight without me."

Grinning, Mark gave him a thumbs up.  

            "I think that's a good decision," he called back.  "I'll tell your mother than my future stepson finally figured it out."

            Startled by Mark's comment, Chandler stared as Mark grinned back at him, then disappeared into the cockpit.   As the plane lifted into the air, Chandler turned to Monica. 

            "Did he just say he was going to marry my mother?"

_Tell me that you live for love_

_That forever is never enough_

_That you've waited all your life to see_

_That you want so badly to believe_

_Tell me that it's not just me._

(DeMarcus/Hummon)

To Be Continued…one more chapter, I think.   And I think it might be a bit out of character for Nora to marry Mark, but that just kind of appeared on my screen while I was typing and I decided it was a good, not-way-too-sappy way to end this chapter.  Trust me, I don't think I have any sap left… 

**I have to credit Troy James, Brett James, and Mark Wills again.  The words in that last note from Chandler were taken from the title song of this story, "When You Think Of Me".  My effort at continuity.  ;-)  They just really seemed to fit what I was trying to have Chandler explain to Monica, and well – that song was the inspiration for this whole story, so…


	13. I Need To Be Next To You

**_Been running from these feelings for so long_**
    
    **_Telling my heart I didn't need you_**
    
    **_Pretending I was better off alone_**
    
    **_But I know that it's just a lie_**
    
    **_So afraid to take a chance again_**

_S__o afraid of what I feel inside…_

_Ten months later – Logan International Airport, Boston:_

             "You okay, baby?" Monica asked with concern as they stopped off the plane and walked up the ramp toward the terminal.  "You look a little pale."

  "Fine," Chandler assured her, smiling distantly.  "I guess I'm still a little wary of airplanes."

"Do you need – "

Monica's question was left unfinished when they stepped into the airport and came face to face with an overly enthusiastic Nora and Mark.  Chandler reached for Monica's hand and flashed her a sideways smile while Nora gushed over her son's new haircut and Monica's appearance, and Mark interrogated them about their flight.  Finally, at Mark's prompting, the small group finally began to move toward baggage claim.  As Nora and Monica walked ahead of them, chatting about the food for the wedding reception, Mark took the opportunity to turn an appraising eye on Chandler.

"Chandler, as long as I've known you, I don't think I've ever seen you look so happy."

Chandler gave Mark a wry grin.  "Don't start with me, man.  You're grinning like the Cheshire Cat yourself."

"Hey, I'm getting married in three days.  I have a reason to be happy."

"Yeah, well…so do I," Chandler responded more seriously, his eyes on the back of Monica's head.   Mark's gaze followed his, and he smiled to himself.  

"You know, I hate to say I told you so…but I did."

Chandler snorted a laugh and glanced over at Mark.  "Okay, so I owe you a thank you.  You brought me to my senses more than once."

"Is that all I get?  A lousy "thank you"?  Twice, _twice_, I convinced you to go to New York, and then I _tried_ to convince you to stay there once you got there, but you were just determined to make yourself miserable.  And now that you have everything you ever wanted, all I get is thanks?"

"What do you want me to say?" Chandler asked him with a mischievous smile.  "Daddy knows best?"

Mark froze, looking at Chandler with an expression of horror.  "I can't believe you just called me that."

Chandler laughed and held up in his hands in a gesture of apology.  "Sorry, sorry.  But I've been planning that one since you called me your stepson."

"Your mother warned me about your misguided sense of humor," Mark commented, rolling his eyes.  "I thought she was exaggerating, since you never joked at all until Monica showed up again."

"Yeah, well…she brings out the best in me."

Mark glanced over at his friend and smiled.  "I don't think anybody will argue with that."
    
    **_But I need to be next to you._**
    
    **_(Oh I, Oh I) I need to share every breath with you._**
    
    **_(Oh I, Oh I) I need to know I can see you smile each morning_**
    
    **_Look into your eyes each night_**
    
    **_For the rest of my life_**
    
    **_Here with you, near with you_**
    
    **_Oh, I, I need to be next to you_**

_Need to be - next to you_

A hard jab in his ribs woke Chandler suddenly from a deep sleep.  He stared into the darkness of the unfamiliar bedroom for a moment trying to orient himself, until a moan from the other side of the bed made everything clear.  

Rolling onto his side, he looked worriedly into Monica's face as he tried to gently shake her awake.  Her restless movements continued, and Chandler was able to make out the fact that she was moaning his name.  He shook her again, this time harder.

"Wake up, Monica," he demanded calmly.  "Mon, _wake up_."

Her eyes popped open and she looked up at him in undisguised fear for a split second before throwing her arms around him.  She sobbed quietly into his chest as he held her close, whispering that it was okay, just a nightmare.  

Monica's sobs slowly quieted, though she still trembled in his arms.  When her grip on him relaxed, Chandler slid down into the bed so that they were face to face, his arms still wrapped securely around her.

 "Was it…?"  Chandler asked without asking, not really needing an answer.

Monica nodded slightly.  "Yeah," she confirmed, though she hated to admit it.  As expected, a vague expression of hurt clouded his eyes.  That was the worst part of her nightmares: seeing how they affected him.  

Chandler sighed and pulled her closer to him, gently placing a kiss on her forehead.  

"I thought they'd stopped," he commented softly as he studied her face, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away.  

"I thought they had too," Monica replied wryly, still sniffling a little.  When the dreams started – shortly after her rain-soaked reconciliation with Chandler at the airfield – she thought they were a delayed reaction to the traumatic roller coaster their relationship had endured.  But they continued for months, and affected Chandler as much as they did Monica.  He felt responsible, guilty because the nightmares were about him.  Sometimes he died, sometimes he left again, sometimes he was just drifting away with an outstretched hand that Monica was unable to reach.   But always, every time, she was left alone.  Without him.  

How could he not feel guilty?  It didn't take some doctor to tell him that the reason she was having the dreams was because of him, because of what he had put her through.  And every time he had to shake her awake, his heart sank a little bit more.   It just wasn't fair that she was still dealing with his mistakes.

After Chandler moved in with her, they had gradually stopped coming.  Whether it was the added security of falling asleep in his arms every night or the feeling that their relationship was moving forward they didn't know, but they had both hoped the dreams were gone completely.  Until now.

"I'm sorry," Chandler whispered to her now, and his mournful tone broke her heart a little.  She hated that he felt responsible, and for his sake even more than hers, she wished the dreams would go away.

"Maybe it's the trip," she suggested, reaching out and grabbing on to the explanation with both hands – anything that made sense and would take the defeated look off his face.  "Maybe it's coming back to Boston, Chandler.  Maybe that's why."

"Maybe," Chandler agreed softly, dropping a line of kisses down her cheekbone.  "That makes sense, I guess.  My mother getting married again is probably giving lots of people nightmares."

Monica smiled gratefully at his attempt at humor, and nestled herself deeper into his arms, taking his lead to change the subject.  

"I think it's sweet," she murmured, closing her eyes.  "They're such an unlikely couple, but they're so happy together."

 "Some people might say you and I are an unlikely couple," Chandler ventured thoughtfully, carefully pulling the covers around her when Monica appeared to be headed back to dreamland.

"Maybe so," Monica responded, her voice slurred with sleep.  "But we're happy together too."

Chandler smiled but remained silent, letting her drift off to sleep without having to process a response from him.  When her soft breaths assured him that she was no longer conscious, he kissed the top of her head and gently entwined his fingers with hers.  

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he whispered against her hair as he cuddled up to her side, protectively draping an arm around her body as he prepared to go back to sleep.

He hoped there would be no more nightmares.

"Kiss for your thoughts," Chandler offered quietly as they sat on the swing in Mark's backyard the next morning, looking up at the clouds in a peaceful silence.

Monica glanced at him and smiled, moving a little closer to him so that her shoulder touched his.

"I was thinking about you," she told him, reaching for his hand.  "About us."

"Good thoughts?" Chandler asked, lifting her hand so he could kiss her fingers.  

"Mostly," Monica said with a slight smile.  She leaned her head back and directed her gaze back to the heavens.  "I was just thinking about the last time I was sitting in this spot, wondering if I was really going to have to leave for New York without you."

"Do you ever wish you had?" Chandler asked her, leaning over to kiss her shoulder.  

"Never," Monica assured him with a loving smile.  "I wouldn't trade what we have now for anything.  Besides, I know from experience that my life without you is pretty depressing."

"Mon," Chandler said, reaching over to tilt her head up.  "You know that you'll never have to live without me, don't you?  I'll never make that mistake again.  I promise."

"I know," Monica whispered, moving her head to kiss the palm of the hand that rested on her cheek.  She looked up at him, concerned by the turn their conversation was taking.  "It's all in the past, sweetie.  We agreed we would leave it there."

Chandler hesitated, not sure if he should risk breaking their peaceful mood with the question he wanted to ask.  With a deep sigh, he reached over to wrap his arms around her, burying his face in her neck.

"I'm not trying to pick a fight, Mon.  I'm really not.  But…you're still having the nightmares."

Monica sighed too, but didn't shrug away from his arms like he expected her to.

"It was just last night, Chandler.  I swear, I haven't had them in months.  Besides, it's not like I can just flip a switch and turn them off.  I can't control it."

"I know that.  And that's what bothers me.  I'm afraid that maybe…maybe you still don't trust me.  Not that I would blame you," he continued hurriedly, grimacing when he realized he had unwittingly implied that she was somehow at fault.  "God knows I've given you enough reasons to – "

"Chandler," Monica interrupted, placing a finger on his lips as she turned in his arms to face him.  He looked back at her, his expression revealing his vulnerability and making him look like a scared child.  Monica shook her head, a gentle smile lighting up her features.

"Don't you ever get tired of punishing yourself?"

Chandler squinted his eyes questioningly.  "I don't – "

"Chandler Bing," Monica interrupted again, looking straight into his eyes.  "I love you.  Trust me, baby, there's nothing in the world that could change that.  Especially not some stupid nightmare.  And I told you, it was probably just coming back here.  Being in Boston reminds me of how close I came to losing you.  And yeah, that scares me, but it scares me because I love you.  Not because I'm afraid that we're destined to relive our past."

Chandler pursed his lips, staring into her eyes.  "Are you sure?" he asked softly.  "You don't have any doubts about us?"

"None," Monica answered without hesitation.  "Not one."

Chandler cupped her face in his hand, his shy smile slowly evaporating into the tender, serious expression he reserved for their most emotional moments.  

"I love you," he informed her softly.  "You know that, don't you?"

"I know," Monica responded with a slight nod, her own expression becoming more sober.  "And that's why I'm sure."

"You are so amazing," Chandler murmured as he rested his forehead against hers.  

"I know that, too," Monica replied, her face breaking into a smile as she tilted her head to kiss him.  Chandler laughed and pulled her closer, wondering for the hundredth time what he had done to deserve a second chance with this woman.  

Whatever it was, he promised himself that she was never going to regret giving it to him.
    
    **_Right here with you is right where I belong_**
    
    **_I'll lose my mind if I can't see you_**
    
    **_Without you there is nothing in this life_**
    
    **_That would make life worth living for_**
    
    **_I can't bear the thought of you not there_**
    
    **_I can't fight what I feel anymore_**
    
    ****

Chandler waved as his mother and Mark drove away in the limo, officially man and wife.  He smiled to himself, hoping that this time, his mother would find real happiness.  He had a feeling she would.  

He felt a hand slide into his, and he turned from the rapidly departing limousine to smile down at Monica. 

"Hey," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.  

"Hey," she responded with a smile, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the lips.  "Wasn't that a beautiful wedding?"

"It was nice," Chandler admitted.  "But the most beautiful thing about it was the maid of honor."

Monica rolled her eyes, but Chandler noticed that her cheeks flushed slightly.  He leaned over to kiss her cheek.

 "Come on," he said, taking her hand.  "I want to show you something."

Monica raised her eyebrows, but resisted the tug on her hand.  "We should stay and help clean up, Chandler.  We can't just leave."

"Honey, I know a mess like this is even better than the real party for you, but we're paying people to clean up after us."

"But we need to wrap up the cake and make sure the presents – "

"Phoebe's taking care of the cake, and Ross promised to make sure the gifts get back to Mom and Mark's.  Rachel and Joey are taking down the decorations we'll want to keep, and the cleaning crew will get the rest."

Monica tilted her head, looking up at him suspiciously.  "It sounds like you've planned this all out."

"I did," Chandler informed her proudly, pulling on her hand again.  "So you don't have any excuses.  Come on."

This time, Monica didn't resist.  Chandler led her out of the reception hall, calling goodbye to their friends, who had already been briefed.  He caught a wink from Joey as they headed out the door, and hoped that Monica wouldn't notice that Rachel was wiping tears from the corner of her eye.  

"Where are you taking me?" Monica asked when she saw Chandler's car parked out front.  Chandler felt butterflies of anticipation start to swirl in his stomach, and he was sure his giddiness would reveal itself in his voice.

"It's a surprise," he answered, opening the door for her and waiting for her to slide inside before he ran around to the driver's side.  

"A good surprise?" Monica asked, teasing, as he jumped behind the wheel.

"I hope so," Chandler responded, glancing over at her with a smile.  "Now, no more questions.  You'll see when we get there."

Monica sighed impatiently but settled into her seat, looking out the window for clues as to their destination.  It wasn't until she actually saw the planes that she realized where he was taking her.  It was the little airport where she and Pete had stopped on their way to Pittsburgh. 

"Chandler?  What are we doing here?"  

Chandler stepped out of the car and came around to open her door, holding out his hand to help her out of the car.  He swallowed, his eyes hopeful and anxious.

"We're going flying," he told her, nodding toward the planes parked around them.

"Chandler," Monica began, already shaking her head.  "Are you sure that's a good idea?  You still get nervous when we fly – "

"I'm sure," Chandler interrupted, smiling broadly.  "I've never been more sure of anything."

The response, and his adamance, puzzled her, but Monica allowed him to lead her over to a blue and white Cessna that was parked near the end of the runway.

"Climb in," he prompted her, holding her hand as he helped her inside.  When she was seated, he stepped away from the plane.  "I'll be right back.  Just gonna go tell Charlie we're about to take off."

Monica watched him run toward the building, still completely bewildered.  In a couple of minutes, Chandler was climbing into the pilot's seat and adjusting his headset, preparing for takeoff.  Monica clutched the sides of her seat, not sure how comfortable she was with Chandler as her pilot, though she would never admit it to him.  

The takeoff was flawless, much smoother than any she had experienced on a commercial flight.  Monica watched Chandler carefully, noting how effortlessly he adjusted controls, and the confidence in his voice as he talked to Charlie over the headset.  There was no sign of the nervousness she had seen on their recent flight to Boston, and certainly not of the panic he'd had on that first flight back to New York.  He loved this, she realized, and suddenly felt touched that he was sharing it with her.

When they reached their cruising altitude, Chandler removed his headset and turned to Monica.  

"Isn't it beautiful up here?" he asked her, hoping that she would love it as much as he did. 

"Yeah, it is," Monica agreed, glancing quickly out the windows before turning her attention back to him.  "You love it, don't you?"

"Yeah," Chandler admitted.  "From the very first time, it was like…I could get away from everything up here."  He paused turned his head to the front of the plane, gazing out across the miles.   "Up here in the air…it was where I thought about you."

"Really?" 

"Yeah," Chandler confirmed with a short laugh.  "And believe me, I spent as much time in a plane as the FAA would allow me to."

Monica smiled, turning her gaze to the landscape below them.  The sun was beginning to set in the distance, but she swallowed away her concerns about flying in the dark.  Chandler knew what he was doing, and she had complete confidence in him.

"Look over there," Chandler instructed her, as he turned the plane so that they were facing the view he had just indicated head on.  The city lay before them, beginning to light up as dusk fell.  And beyond it lay the waters of the Boston Harbor, sparkling gold in the sunlight that remained.  

"Chandler, it's beautiful," Monica breathed, staring intently at the scene in front of her.  

"I know.  The very first time I saw it like this at sunset, I decided that if I ever had the chance, I'd bring you up here and show you."

"Oh, sweetie…thank you.  This was a fantastic surprise."

"That's not the surprise," Chandler told her softly, his voice husky.  He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, before placing something in her palm and closing her fingers around it.  "This is."   

Monica's eyes were glued to his face, wondering if he had just put what she thought he had just put in her hand.  Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, then dragged her eyes away from his to look down at her hand.

It was what she thought it was.  A beautiful diamond and sapphire ring.

"Oh my god…" she breathed, lifting her other hand to cover her mouth.  "Chandler…"

            "Monica," Chandler whispered, leaning toward her after checking to make sure they were still a safe distance from the city.  "I made the biggest mistake of my life when I thought I could live it without you.  But the only thing that matters now is how much I love you.  You…you make me happier than I ever thought I could be.  And if you'll let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way."

            "Chandler…"

            "Hold on a minute," Chandler interrupted with an embarrassed smile, upset with himself for not timing this better.  "I have to turn us around before we start crashing into skyscrapers."

            Monica laughed, releasing the tension in the cockpit, and reached up to wipe tears out of her eyes as Chandler quickly got them headed in the other direction.  When he was satisfied that they were back on a safe course, he turned back to Monica, taking both of her hands in his.  She looked back at him with her heart in her eyes, not believing this was really happening.

            "As I was saying," he continued solemnly, looking deeply into her eyes.  "Monica Geller, will you marry me?"

Monica smiled, looking into the face of the man she loved.  "Yes," she answered with a little sob, her smile widening as Chandler's eyes lit up.  After gazing at her for a second to make sure he had heard correctly, Chandler let go of her right hand and carefully slid the ring onto her left, then leaned forward to kiss her.  

"I love you," he whispered against her hair as they embraced.  

"I love you too," Monica whispered back, kissing him again.  

"Damn it," Chandler said, groaning quietly.  

"What?" Monica asked, surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"I knew I shouldn't have tried to fly a plane and propose at the same time.  Hold on a second, okay?"

Monica laughed and sat back up in her seat, turning her attention to the ring that now graced her left hand.  "Take your time, sweetie.  I don't want us to end up one of those tragic love legends, getting engaged only to die in a fiery crash a few minutes later."

"Thank you for that inspiring imagery on our engagement night, Mon.  Is that really what you want to think about right now?"  
            "No…" Monica answered, reaching over to run her hand through his hair.  "How long until we're on the ground?"

"A few minutes," Chandler said, looking over at her with a seductive grin.  "Why?  What do you have in mind?"

Monica shifted in her seat, excitedly pulling one leg up underneath her as she counted off on her fingers.  "Well, first I've got to go get Rachel and Phoebe, then we need to talk about dresses, and flowers, and where we'll have the wedding, _when_ we'll have the wedding, the band and the food and – "

"Monica," Chandler interrupted, looking a little green.  "You've got to be kidding.  We've been engaged for _five minutes_."

"I am kidding," Monica admitted with a triumphant smile.  "But you should see your face right now!"

"You're going to drive me crazy from now until the wedding, aren't you?"

"Probably," Monica assured him, not appearing to be the least bit worried about that.

"Well, as long as we're clear," Chandler said, rolling his eyes as they began their descent.

"Hey," Monica said quietly as they taxied down the runway a moment later, reaching over to put her hand on Chandler's arm.  He glanced at her, his heart thumping as he took in her slightly awed expression.  "We're getting married."  
            "Yeah," he said, a little in awe himself.  "We are."

"I love you…so much."

Chandler smiled as he released his seatbelt, then leaned over to free Monica from hers.  In one quick motion, he opened the door to the cockpit and jumped to the ground, then held out his arms to Monica.  She fell into them, laughing as Chandler twirled her around and around.  Too dizzy to remain on his feet, he finally fell to the ground, taking Monica with him.  

"I love you, too," he murmured, stroking her cheek with one finger.  "For the rest of our lives."

"The rest of our lives," Monica agreed, pulling him toward her for another kiss.   After a moment, Chandler reluctantly pulled away and stood up, holding out a hand to pull Monica to her feet.

"We should probably go.  The others told me I had to bring you straight back so they could congratulate us."

"They knew?" Monica questioned, her eyes wide.  "I can't believe Rachel didn't warn me!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Chandler defended.  "Besides, I had to tell them so they wouldn't whine about having to clean up and guilt you into staying."

"Honey," Monica began, reaching up to play with Chandler's tie.  "This was a wonderful surprise and I love it – all of it.  But did you happen to think about the fact that you were leaving Joey in a reception hall with the leftover wedding cake?"

"Oh, no," Chandler groaned, reaching into his pocket for the keys to his car.  "Let's go.  Maybe we can get there before he tries to eat the plastic bride and groom."
    
    **_'Cause I need to be next to you _**
    
    **_Oh, I, Oh, I, I need to share every breath with you _**
    
    **_Oh, I, Oh, I, I need to know I can see you smile each morning_**
    
    **_Look into your eyes each night_**
    
    **_For the rest of my life_**
    
    **_Here with you, near with you_**
    
    **_Oh I, I need to be next to you_**
    
    **_I need to have your heart next to mine_**
    
    **_For all time_**
    
    **_Hold you for all my life_**
    
    **_I need to be next to you…_**
    
    **~_Need To Be Next To You (Diane Warren)_**
    
    ****
    
    **THE END!!  Yay!!!  You don't know how relieved I am to have this one finished.  **
    
    **It still didn't end up like I wanted…but this will have to do.  ;) **
    
    **Please review and let me know what you thought!  **


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